


Dead Reckoning

by Gadhelyn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Panic Attacks, Violence, during order of the phoenix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29488167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhelyn/pseuds/Gadhelyn
Summary: Severus Snape delivers a potion to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, holding a twenty-year-old grudge in his heart. He has yearned for revenge for so long—and he will have it. Along with something else he did not ask for.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Severus Snape
Comments: 24
Kudos: 39





	1. Use Your Words

**Author's Note:**

> [English is not my first language, so all feedback appreciated. Thanks for reading!]
> 
> [Chapter release schedule](https://badlydonekarma.tumblr.com/post/643648661393440768/dead-reckoning-chapter-release-schedule)

> **Dead Reckoning**
> 
> _n. to find yourself bothered by someone’s death more than you would have expected, as if you assumed they would always be part of the landscape, like a lighthouse you could pass by for years until the night it suddenly goes dark, leaving you with one less landmark to navigate by—still able to find your bearings, but feeling all that much more adrift._

> _“Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their  
>  sleeves, who cannot control their emotions,  
> who wallow in sad memories and allow   
> themselves to be provoked this easily  
> ―weak people, in other words―  
> they stand no chance against his powers."_
> 
> ―Severus Snape / Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince

**1.**

**Use Your Words**

The Order meeting was almost over, and Severus Snape was finishing his latest report. The news could have been better, but in the light of current events, even the absence of bad news was to be considered a good sign.

Not that it made that much of a difference to Severus. Whether his news was good or awful, he could see from the expressions of the other members that they still did not trust him—not entirely and not even after Dumbledore had determinedly assured everyone that he was on their side, that yes, he kept ties with the Dark Lord but only to spy on him, and that his truest loyalties lied with the Order.

Severus could read admittedly well-hidden doubt from Kingsley Shacklebolt’s face as the Auror listened to his report with seeming interest. He sensed the discomfort from the faces of Lupin and Tonks as they sat side by side, and with great effort avoided glancing at each other. Moody was quite difficult to read but he had fixed both eyes―the magical one as well as the regular one―on Severus which insinuated utmost vigilance. Molly Weasley listened to his report politely and nodded from time to time. She had pressed her lips tightly together though, as her eyes gyrated to Dumbledore frequently, almost like she tried to remind herself why she too should firmly trust that the speaker’s intentions were true. Her husband Arthur seemed alert but confused―the only attendee at the Order meeting who was watching Severus without any effort in hiding the distrust from his face, was the master of house—loathing and hatred seeped through the dark eyes that were fixed on him.

Sirius Black sat quite disrespectfully at the head of the table as though the meeting was arranged solely for him—of course he was the legal owner of the house as Severus reluctantly accepted. But as a member of the Order, he was arguably useless since he spent most of his days only lurking in the depths of his manor. Severus did not understand why Black apparently thought he would be the obvious choice to host the planned Order meetings. Black had crossed his arms, and his long hair rested on his shoulders as he leaned backwards on the chair while listening to Severus.

“—which is why the Dark Lord will not be likely to take further risks that would lead to his exposure. It is safe to expect though that the attempts of requiring the prophecy will be continued by the Death Eaters. As I’ve been privately informed”—Black sneered piercingly at this statement— “at least Dolohov, Rosier and Yaxley might pursue access on the premises.”

“Thank you, Severus.”

There was screeching as chairs were pushed aside. Everyone stood up. The meeting had come to an end. Everyone seemed to be leaving; Sirius was the only one who did not move as he sat still at the head of the table. Severus avoided looking at him, he wanted to leave as quickly as possible, to get as far away as possible from Grimmauld Place which is why he felt irritated when somebody called his name.

It was Lupin.

“I’m sorry to bother you like this,” he said, “but I need to ask you a certain favour.”

Severus saw Tonks lingering in the doorway, trying her best not to glance at them.

“Of course, you’re free to decline,” Lupin said amicably. “Full moons are starting to get a little—ah—shall we say oppressive. I understand that you must have other things in mind these days, but I’d be grateful if you’d be able to prepare me some of that excellent potion of yours. If you feel like you have time to spare, I mean.”

Lupin tried way too hard to not look at Tonks, so hard it actually made the hole situation much more obvious. Pathetic, really, Severus thought. And he was annoyed because Dumbledore was still in the house: The Headmaster stood close by in hearing range and was nobly declining Molly’s invitations to stay for dinner.

“Sure,” Severus complied reluctantly. He gritted his teeth when a relieved smile spread on Lupin’s face.

Lupin was just dispensing his thank you’s, when Severus heard a scornful voice behind him.

“I’d consider very carefully before swallowing anything that’s been brewed by him, Remus.”

Sirius stood in the doorway, leaning, hands still crossed over his chest and a grim look on his face.

Severus turned around, sneering.

“We’re all certainly aware that you would not recognise a sterling potion even if it was forced down your throat, Black,” he snarled, “but I don’t recall anyone offering you.”

Sirius’s hands slumped to his sides—the other one found its way inside his cloak and was probably now squeezing a wand. Lupin glanced at his friend, frowning, before rushing to thank Severus one more time. Satisfied, Severus turned his back to Black and inquired where and when Lupin wanted his potion to be delivered.

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back from my assignment—I’ve contacted other werewolves so that I could build some kind of bridges, but so far the task hasn’t been easy,” he said. “I thought that you could bring it here, maybe? Sirius will gladly accept the potion on my behalf.” Lupin tried to keep his demeanour as nonchalant as possible, but it was more than obvious that he had feared this moment―feared that Severus would decline making the potion because of the request to deliver it to Grimmauld Place. Severus’s lips curved into a sardonic smile.

“I’m sure,” he jeered and glanced at Black who looked like he would most likely hex every last bottle of potion Severus would offer him in the future.

Nevertheless, Severus agreed and continued to add meaningfully: “Glad to be of use.”

Those were the magic words.

Sirius froze. He did not pull out his wand, but Severus was certain that he was clasping it forcefully inside his cloak. It had been a delight throughout the summer in Order meetings: to imply and point out to Black how useless he was dallying inside while others were out fighting the Dark Lord. He savoured seeing Black squirming with anger he could never address by attacking him while the others were present in his house.

Sirius was fuming in the doorway when Severus left.

×

Autumn had arrived, it was brisk and windy this year. Severus was more than prepared when the opportunity to abandon Spinner’s End came by. Lonely, tormenting nights in his childhood home had pulled him deeper in to the dark tragedy he had to call his life. The Dark Lord demanded proof of his loyalty, the Order demanded proof of his trustworthiness and Dumbledore demanded simply blind trust in his actions and plans; plans that probably would not have sounded rational to anyone else.

To Severus, Hogwarts had always been a way to escape the world and its churning problems: previously his drunken, violent muggle-father and despicable childhood home, later the hollow solitude and burning knowledge of the fact that he did not have anyone or anything no longer, only the dark, unfortunate plans Albus Dumbledore had for him. Plans he had promised to follow, to stand by to, no matter what happened.

Severus was gloomier than ever when returned to Hogwarts as the news of Ministry-sent Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher reached his ears just a couple of days earlier. He knew he was at least three times as qualified as the hag Fudge had sent, but Dumbledore had, yet again, refused his request to have the position. He had refused even though he knew that Fudge and the Ministry would intrude to monitor his actions.

What is more, he had finished making Lupin’s potion and the bottles were waiting to be delivered as they stared at him accusingly from the bookshelf. Technically he had finished the potion weeks ago but had procrastinated delivering it since he had no other business to Grimmauld Place whatsoever. Visiting Number Twelve just for pleasure was not in the top of the list of things he enjoyed doing.

First week of school came to an end, full moon was nearing, and Severus ran out of excuses while sitting near Dumbledore at the high table in the Great Hall during supper on Friday night. He also knew that the effectiveness of the potion would fade even though he had charmed the bottles to preserve it better. He shoved the jugs inside his travel cloak and headed to the iron gates so he could disapparate.

Severus was in a bad mood when he arrived in London. He apparated defiantly on the street between number thirteen and eleven of Grimmauld Place. He knew it was unnecessarily reckless but at the moment he did not bother to care. He watched as Number Twelve appeared between the two muggle houses and walked to the front door. He rang the doorbell several times on purpose, as he knew it would most likely wake up the deceased, painted version of Mrs. Black and irritate the living, fuming Mr. Black, who currently inhabited the house.

Sirius Black appeared to the door, annoyed and to Severus’s delight looking as though he had just been woken up from what might have been a refreshing nap. Black’s face turned darker as he recognised Severus.

“Snape”, he said, sullen. “What are doing here?”

Severus jerked his cloak and the potion bottles in its pocket chinked when they touched one another. “The potion for your friend, as promised.”

Sirius glanced at the pocket, then glared at Severus before giving way allowing him to enter the house. Pestered, Severus noted that he bothered to move as little as possible by only couple of inches, letting him push himself inside the house while their cloaks and sides brushed against one another.

“You sure took your sweet time delivering,” Sirius pointed out dryly. He shut the door behind them and followed Severus to the kitchen, where they normally held Order meetings. Nobody else was present now though, only the two of them.

Severus took the bottles out and carefully placed them on the table.

“This happens to be quite a challenging potion,” Severus whispered, “even if you haven’t got the faintest clue about how to prepare—“

“I hardly need an Outstanding in Potions to know that you could’ve had it ready weeks ago but chose not to. You just wanted to torment Remus because that’s what you do—you get off on other people’s misery and when you get to strut around pretending to be influential.”

Severus forestalled a satisfied smile. This was way too easy. If he played his cards right, he might be able to dismantle some of his anger and foul mood through a couple of well-aimed hexes at Black’s irritating face before returning to Hogwarts.

“So that is the conclusion Black has jumped to while pondering about it here?” he said slickly. “Must be nice to have so much spare time to speculate and form all these cute theories—“

“You know perfectly well,” Sirius interrupted clutching his teeth together, “that I don’t voluntarily rot inside these walls while others are out fighting—“

“Fascinating, since I did not see anyone standing guard at the door obstructing you from leaving,” Severus snarled. He observed Black’s expression: it was furious, but apparently the former Gryffindor had not yet reached his breaking point. Severus enjoyed the pleasant feeling that was flooding him. Just a couple more pokes and Black would surely scatter. The man was ridiculously predictable. Severus was almost able to feel it in the air: soon Black would reach for his wand and attack, and he would be ready—he had been ready for the past twenty years.

“So, it is my understanding that you are perfectly capable to leave,” he continued, “anytime you wish, but instead have chosen to hide in here—safely in a house that just so happens to be shielded with every possible warding spell known to Wizards, now that half of the Ministry is chasing you.”

“The house is not warded because of me,” Sirius snapped. “And you know it.”

“Obviously,” Snape said slyly. “One might say, though, that it’s an interesting coincidence you so kindly suggested your very own house to be the headquarters of the Order, full-well knowing that the building would be protected more carefully than the vaults of Gringotts.”

Sirius clasped the back of a chair with his fist and glared at Severus, who remembered seeing the same expression on the man’s face decades ago, before one particularly uncomfortable hex that flung him twenty feet across a hallway in Hogwarts, headlong to a crowd of students, and merited Black two weeks of detention. He could feel he was close—so close—he would not need anything more but a few carefully chosen words and Sirius would attack.

Black’s knuckles were as white and pale as his bleak face from grasping the back of the chair. An evil smile tightened his skin—he was merely a memory of the young, brisk boy who had attacked Severus in Hogwarts all those years ago.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Sirius spat. “I bet it would be a nice, welcome surprise for you if I chose to sod off and march directly on some Auror’s lap and ended up back in Azkaban. Neatly out of your way, so you could continue torturing Harry without distraction, you sadistic arsehole. Too bad I’m not going for it, huh? I’m not going anywhere.”

Severus smiled too. Sirius was way off—though some of it was admittedly true—maybe the ultimate goal for his tormenting was to get rid of Black completely, but right now, right then and there he would settle for a physical way to dismantle his fuming rage. And an incontinent duel with a relatively challenging opponent would be a splendid way to do just that.

“Delightful to notice that you’ve yielded to the role of a custodial parent,” Severus uttered coldly. “One might think that twelve years away from the boy’s life would’ve—“

That was it.

Sirius’s eyes had flashed probably from all the bitterness he had gathered in Azkaban and he grabbed his wand and lashed it. Severus had been waiting for it ever since he stepped his foot in the house, which is why he was able to react faster—he shielded himself from the hex and red sparks bounced off without even scraping him. He had no intention to hide out though, so he casted his shield off and attacked himself: Black flew back several feet in the air and crashed into the stove.

Still lying on the floor, Sirius slashed his wand again, and Severus felt an invisible lasso wrapping his legs together before he was slammed onto the floor. He saw Sirius storming to him, half running, half crawling like a feral animal—clearly Sirius would not be satisfied by just hexing, he wanted to hurt the man he hated so much with his bare hands. Severus aimed another curse at him and was starting to feel a little anxious when Sirius was able to shield himself from the attack. He slashed his wand once more: Severus felt the invisible lasso tighten around his feet and it was about to yank him in the air. He managed to hit target with his next hex, and Sirius flew in the air again, he crashed against the kitchen table that slid several inches from its place.

Then one of the kitchen chairs flew conjured across the air, Severus dodged it barely and while doing so noticed that the invisible lasso had loosened its grip around his feet. He stood up. Next chair crashed into his torso, mangled his chin and lower lip. He was bleeding all over his cloak. Third chair was flying, but Severus flicked his wand and the chair changed direction mid-air: it flew back and crashed into Sirius who was still on the floor. Feeling triumphant, Severus saw that Sirius’s wand rolled away from his hand. Sirius rushed after it, but Severus yelled: “ACCIO!” and the wand flew to him instead.

Sirius slouched on the floor, panting, and looked up at Severus who had walked over to him, staring down scornfully. Severus kicked his feet apart so that he could place his own between them and look at him straight down, face filled with all the contempt he could gather.

“That was _weak_ , Black,” he taunted while smiling sardonically. Severus’s breath had accelerated too but he fought to keep it as steady as possible to show to panting Sirius he was superior to him in every way; that he wasn’t the scrawny, lanky boy anymore, the one anybody was able to toss around Hogwarts’ hallways or down the stairs at Spinner’s End. Severus felt painful anger pressing his insides. “Azkaban has made you slow. I recalled you being better.” On a whim, he spat on Black’s face.

Sirius was still panting, slouched against the lower kitchen cabinets, a scowl on his face as Severus stood above him. His nose was bleeding, and the spit was slowly dripping down his right cheek. Severus felt completely at ease: the satisfaction from the success felt simply perfect, he was still smiling victoriously when he saw Sirius’s lip curl.

The Gryffindor opened his mouth. Severus felt himself stiffen and his smile fade, as Sirius stuck his tongue out and licked his cheek. The check, where Severus’s spit was dripping downward. Then he raised his other arm, wiped rest of the spit on it, and Severus had to watch as he cleansed his hand from the saliva with his tongue, rather indecently.

Severus noticed, with disgust, that he was aroused by that obscene sight. At the moment, he was more than thankful for his thick travel cloak, that hopefully shielded his even more obscene erection that had made him forget for a moment who and where he was and what the hell he was supposed to be doing. He stood in place, grasping tightly his own and Sirius’s wands in his hand. He could not do anything but stare.

A severe mistake.

Clearly that had been what Sirius had wanted: with one sharp, well-aimed kick he thrusted the feet from under Severus who fell instantly dropping both wands. They rolled away from his reach. Sirius lunged after his own wand, and Severus blocked his attempt with the only, last trick that came to mind. He crawled closer, panicked, and kicked it out of their reach. The wand rolled away, it disappeared to the small gap under the sink.

Hatred and anger flashed behind Sirius’s eyes as he attacked. They were fighting over the only wand left now: Severus’s.

Severus struggled trying to grasp it, but Sirius was strangling the cloak around his neck and pushing him onto the floor. Severus reached out his hand, but Black straddled him, he was sitting on his stomach preventing him from moving and reached out for the wand himself, he was _so_ close, too close—

Severus thought he was finished when Sirius’s hand squeezed around his wand. But the man only grinned venomously and drawled: “Let’s see how well you do without your wand then, shall we, since you like to bluster so much.” And with that he tossed the wand away, it disappeared jangling and clattering somewhere in the dark hallway.

Sirius was now smiling manically, and Severus could see the remains of insanity Azkaban had left in his eyes before a solid fist hit his face. He was now bleeding from his nose and probably lip as well, although he did not believe his nose had been broken—not quite yet anyway. He reached for Sirius’s neck with his hands, strangling was the goal in his mind, as he tried to haul himself away from the man’s grasp. While doing that, he managed to move unfavourably and felt to his horror how his still hard erection pushed against Sirius’s backside.

Severus turned away, alarmed, he was staring at the kitchen chair legs and prayed to anyone who might be listening that the other man would have missed it. His prayers went unanswered. Sirius’s fist froze in the air, midway to his face. Initial shock migrated off the man’s face and a jeering grin appeared.

“I knew it,” he whispered roughly and wrapped his other hand around Severus’s neck. “I knew that would get you going, you grimy shit. I happen to know what turns on sadistic pricks such as yourself.”

Because Severus had been waiting for it, he managed to keep his expression as motionless as possible, when Black grasped his erection with his free hand through the robes. He was clasping and rubbing forcefully, probably hoping he finally had the upper hand, counting on an appalled reaction, but Severus kept his face as stony as he could. He thought he saw a flash of anxiety in Sirius’s eyes, and gained a hint of confidence.

“I’m sure you do,” Severus croaked as Sirius was still strangling him, “but you don’t seem to know what to do with that piece of information. And I happen to know why.”

“Enlighten me then, why don’t you, _Snivellus.”_

“It’s because you’ve always been merely a pathetic, ostentatious—I apologise, let me use a term you’re actually familiar with— _pompous_ arsehole, who likes to make a flashy scene, because that’s all you’re good for.”

Sirius laughed a horrifying laugh that echoed around the kitchen. The grip from Severus’s neck loosened a little.

“Is that so, then?”

“You probably think you’re masking it effectively, but I could see it miles away—even back then, when we were at school,” Severus spat. Sirius had still not released his erection nor the grip from his neck, though it had loosened a little. “Did you honestly think nobody could see through you? All that flaunting and pretension—anyone could’ve realised it was an act if they they’d have made any effort at all. Trying so hard to convince everyone you had fucked half the school and to have been _so very_ accomplished—when in reality, you would not have the guts to do anything. That’s why had to strut around with Potter too, isn’t that so—so that you’d have somebody to tell you exactly what to do because you couldn’t decide for yourself?”

Sirius was still smiling spitefully, but his laughter had died. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t?” Severus spat. “Oh, I’m _certain_ you secretly yearned that someone like Potter would come in the dark hours of the night, to put you in your place and have his way— “

“ _How dare you—“_

Severus had been waiting for it—he took advantage of Sirius’s bemused, emotional rage and aimed a swift hit to his throat. As Sirius was left gagging, he lifted his hands to cover his throat, and Severus was able to free himself. He did not get up though, nor pursued his wand—even to his own surprise he found himself tugging Sirius’s cloak collar and forcing the other man on his back in turn, now straddling himself over him for a change. Severus was cruelly pleased to notice that Sirius was painfully hard too, as he felt the man’s erection chafing his own, while he settled over him.

Firmly Severus curled his fingers around the other man’s neck, Sirius was still gagging as he leaned in closer. Dark eyes were looking back at him, and hate matching his own was burning bright in them when they stared at each other. Severus smiled scornfully.

“So, I was right, then,” he stated softly and pushed Sirius’s head back a bit, so that his neck arched, “hard as a rock by just the thought when I merely mentioned Potter’s name.”

“ _No_ —that’s not—what this is—“ Sirius gagged and tried to strike Severus, but he avoided the swing easily.

“No?” Severus sneered. “Then what is it, why don’t you tell me?” 

Sirius did not say another word, just stared and inhaled erratically, clasping Severus’s wrist powerlessly, as the other man’s hand tightened its grip around his neck.

Severus coughed and then spat again on Black’s face. Sirius closed his eyes for a second but opened them immediately after. Bloody spit was dripping down his left cheek.

“That wasn’t a request, so maybe you did not understand the question,” Severus said with a calculated voice, slowly, steadily. “ _Tell me_ , Black,” and he lowered himself so that he was now sitting on Sirius’s thighs and could freely place his other hand on his hard, quivering erection—and unlike he had, Sirius exhaled loudly, “why are you so excruciatingly hard at the moment?”

No answer.

Severus felt rage gusting inside of him—but now there was something completely different mixed in it. He licked his lips, which he noticed just now to be bloody, took his hand off the man’s neck and hit him, hard. He felt his knuckles bruise but did not care. He hit again, so hard that the other man’s face flopped down to the other side. In his other hand, he felt Sirius’s erection expanding and felt a jolt to his own groin—holy shit. The bastard was enjoying this.

Deceitful face turned to Severus. Sirius did not seem to fear or worry about his predicament, in fact the opposite: he seemed eager to know what would happen next, he was breathing more steadily. Severus was careful not to show his own impatience and moved way slower than he would have wanted to. He loosened the grip around Sirius’s neck. He took his hand to his face, wiped the spit on his fingers and then thrusted his hand to the other man’s mouth. Fingers brushed Sirius’s palate and he gagged again but did not object otherwise.

“Lick it,” Severus commanded. “You seemed to enjoy it earlier.”

And to his shock Black obeyed: he started to suck his fingers, biting them at times and licked them clean from his blood and spit, swallowing it all down his throat.

That was the moment Severus realised he was done for; he knew he would do everything he could to find out what else Sirius Black was willing to swallow.

Severus withdrew his fingers from the other man’s mouth, he was now agonizingly aroused. He was not able to stop himself when he lifted his fingers to his own mouth and sucked them once, as the desire to taste the other man was scorching his groin. He did it all intentionally slow, taunting and looking at the man under him the whole time. He felt Sirius’s body stiffen, saw his pupils widen. Only the awareness of the fact that Black might be more than ready to bite it off, stopped him from ripping off his clothes and shoving his cock in the other man’s mouth right then and there.

“I knew you’d like that,” Severus mumbled, intentionally repeating the other man’s words from before. “Didn’t you, you dirty whore?”

Sirius was still silent, just kept staring, but when Severus proceeded to choke him harder, he gagged and rushed to nod. Severus felt stunningly authoritative, the warm feeling was eating up his insides and he was not sure if he had ever felt as aroused as he was at the moment.

“Use your words,” he ordered and tightened his fingers.

“Fuck— _fine_ —I—enjoyed it,” Sirius uttered. His voice was still hoarse, so Severus loosened his grip around the man’s neck a little more. The words, now spoken aloud for the first time, ravished him roughly and he feared he would come immediately if he would move at all.

But then Sirius spoke again. “I enjoyed it _a_ _lot_ , actually. I think I could taste your muggle-father from your filthy blood. The Dark Lord must not like that, huh?”

Severus twitched when he felt a hand on his chest. Sirius had grabbed his cloak front and was now pulling it off him, as he realised to his dismay and excitement.

“Let’s see what else you got from your father,” Sirius insisted.

And with that, the travel cloak flew off him. Severus noticed he was not objecting as much as he would have liked to. Sirius was reaching for his belt buckle now and it was more than obvious what he aspired to do. Severus felt suddenly quite bleak, he was backing away, but only so he could tear the cloak off of Sirius. Black did not protest: he assisted by lifting his arms up when Severus was tearing away his shirt.

Something in the thought off kissing Black was so revolting, so ghastly, that instead Severus acquiesced to attacking his chin instead. He bit it, quite violently, licked and felt the stubble with his tongue, moved down and nibbled his neck, not caring whether he broke the skin with his teeth or not. He licked and sucked aggressively as he felt wondering hands on his chest.

Sirius let out something that sounded like a groan, he slid his hands under his cloak, was clawing his back, tearing the skin, and Severus felt their trousers were so useless now, that he interrupted his other activities to simply growl with anger. He stood up so he could take off his pants as quickly as possible. He had vaguely presumed that Sirius would do the same. Which is why he flummoxed realising he indeed had not.

Sirius was still slouching on the floor, panting, staring at him intently after glancing at the erection he had just freed from his pants.

Feeling naked, in more ways than just the obvious one, Severus felt enraged.

“Get up,” he ordered heatedly. “Take them off.”

But Sirius did not comply, presumably because he knew it would infuriate Severus so much. Severus sank to pull Sirius up, simultaneously ripping the belt and trousers off of him, and for a moment they were battling again. Sirius was elbowing him roughly; Severus clutched the man’s hair, furious, and yanked it painfully. He tried to hit Sirius again, but his aiming and angle were horrible—Sirius’s was better, and he managed to punch him in the face instead. Then, Sirius had seized his erection again, he was now clutching it forcefully, wanking him with his fist. Severus was forced to exclaim with sudden pleasure.

Sirius pushed him backwards. Severus backed up several steps before he hit something solid: he glanced over his shoulder and realised it was the kitchen table, and Sirius was trying to thrust him on it vehemently. Severus turned his face to Sirius and noticed his trousers were now wrapped around his ankles. Sirius was kicking them off impatiently—Severus unwillingly focused to stare at his erection that was now freed from his pants and pointing at him demandingly—then he grasped that he was being turned around forcefully.

Hell would freeze over before he, Severus Snape, would bend over a table to be fucked by Sirius Black.

Severus grasped the other man’s hips and pulled. He was able to taste the cold sweaty warmth as he licked his neck. With his hand he gripped the erection. Black had spent twelve years in prison—it had to have some sort of impact on him.

And Severus was right: Sirius moaned and closed his eyes only after a few, rough pulls. He moved his hand back and forth roughly, squeezing the pulsating cock in his fist almost violently—Black’s clasped his waist, his fingernails dug down to his skin and the man was trembling in his hands. Severus continued to jerk him off; Sirius flung his head backwards and groaned with pleasure.

It was almost too easy for Severus to push the man violently against the kitchen table—stomach first, as he evaded from the way and grabbed the long hair. He pulled Sirius’s head back, pushed himself forward and let his cock slide over Sirius’s cheeks a couple of times, teasingly. The man seemed to startle from the sensation, realising now what was about to happen.

“Wait—“ Black grunted in between his intermittent breaths and tried to pull away, but Severus used all his force to keep him still in between himself and the kitchen table. _The_ kitchen table—in fact—where they had their Order meetings, he now realised with delight. He tightened his grip around Sirius’s hair and circled his other hand around the man’s neck, pulling him closer.

“Now you’re claiming you don’t want this?” Severus breathed impatiently in his ear. “Stop lying, whore. Or it could be you were lying back then—all that blustering for nothing—maybe nobody’s ever fucked you like I’m going to, then?”

“ _Don’t_ —“ Sirius breathed as Severus pushed one finger over his gap.

“Say it,” Severus ordered as he leaned lower, whispering angrily at the back of Sirius’s skull. “Tell me the truth.”

Sirius tried to tug himself away—Severus withdrew his hand, spat on Sirius’s back and dipped his hand on it. He moved the hand again on the tight gap, this time pushing one finger in.

Sirius’s whole body withered, and again Severus was about to come, when the tight muscle squeezed his finger in. His own erection was pressed against him and Sirius’s thighs as the man was trying to squirm away from under him.

“Stop that, you pathetic slut,” Severus spat. “Tell me the truth, and I’ll stop, if that’s what you really want.”

“All— _right.”_ Sirius was breathing intermittently and stopped clawing Severus’s skin from where he was able to reach.

“All right, _what_ ?” Severus inquired.

“You’re right,” Sirius mumbled quietly, it felt like he was panicking now. He huddled himself against the table.

Severus grinned, widely, but Sirius could not see it—probably only heard it from his sneering, cold voice.

“You have to say it out loud, Black. Use your words.”

Sirius jerked his head to the other side; his cheek was resting against the table. Severus saw his lips move slowly, when he spoke with a quiet, dark voice.

“Nobody’s ever fucked me like this.”

“Very good,” Severus agreed. “Now we’re getting somewhere. And how about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you ever fucked anyone like this?”

Sirius was silent, but Severus tugged his hair violently. The other man inhaled.

“Why does that matter?” Sirius whispered.

“Mm-hmm,” Severus muttered. “I thought so. Wondered if it would’ve been that way around. Guess so, then. But it has been a while, hasn’t it?”

And Severus could not wait any longer, the innate urge was pressing his whole body—and not the least his erection, that was about to burst between their thighs. His cock wanted to access where two fingers already were, still moving back and forth, wanted to be thrusted in the tense hole that fought back—Severus restrained himself and pushed another finger in the gap accompanied by a groan from Sirius.

“You said—“

“I said I’ll stop if you want me to,” Severus reminded. He slid his fingers out, then back in and could almost feel the other man surrendering to it as he stretched his gap further apart. Severus pulled Sirius’s hair again, placed him more upright so that he could reach the cock that was caged underneath him. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Severus withdrew his fingers, clasped Sirius’s waist with one hand and slid his cock in the tight hole violently, until his thighs slammed against Sirius’s.

“Oh— _fuck_ —“ Sirius yelled, tried to stand up but Severus pulled his head back and circled his other hand—deliberately the one with the Dark Mark—around the other man’s neck and pushed him back against the table. Sirius had not indeed told him to stop—but now he could not do that even if he wanted to. His cries were muffled against Severus’s arm.

Severus was thrusting deeper, cramming his cock hard inside. He let his hips smash against the other man again and again, felt the pulsating surge of pleasure build up when the hot, contracting muscle clasped his cock firmly. He was close, he knew he was about to come any moment—

—A horrifying, burning desire to see Black when he’d come overpowered him—he wanted to look at the man, see his eyes, his expression. See the pleasure from his face—and he tugged Sirius’s hair once again. He had to pull himself out of him to turn him around. They were struggling again for a moment, for a shorter while this time when Severus forced Sirius around and they were face to face now. He slid his cock back in, and this time he was able to hear the groans clearly, see the face and the grey eyes that were staring back at him the whole time—and Severus felt the sights and the sounds to push him right on the border of orgasm.

He grabbed Sirius’s half-hard cock, jerked him off while thrusting his own cock in deeper. Sirius moaned, uttered with pure pleasure now and was groaning words that sounded like pleads to continue, more, _harder_ — _fuck yes_ —please—

“KREACHER GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” Sirius roared suddenly without a warning, and Severus was startled viciously mid-thrust. There was an ear-piercing CRACK, but he spotted a shred of shabby house-elf that had apparently been standing in the doorway, watching.

Oh, _God_.

Heinous.

Severus did not have time to delve into the unsettling observation, as Sirius came right then and there. Sirius’s cum stained his hand and stomach, the man himself was groaning loudly, his whole body seizing, as he grabbed what he was able to reach with his hands: Severus’s arm and side, digging the fingernails deep into the skin. Sirius’s body arched, and to Severus the sight might have been the most faultless, desirable thing he had ever witnessed in his life.

And with that thought he came too, gushing inside Sirius, collapsing powerlessly against the other man.

Once everything was over, the atmosphere seemed to have changed at once. Sirius slid away from under Severus without a glance, got dressed in a hurry not bothering to clean himself up from the sperm dripping downwards. After pulling his cloak on he marched past Severus to the door, looked both ways and then returned, stealthily glancing at Severus somewhere around his chin area.

“Get dressed!” he gnarled crossly.

Severus blinked. He moved a step, did not have any idea where his clothes might have been, but was spared from looking, as Sirius had stooped to gather them from the floor. The man tossed his clothes at him angrily.

“Would you hurry up with the god-damn clothes?” Sirius snarled. He was pacing back and forth while he waited, avoiding Severus’s eyes. He had bloody bruises on his face and left eye seemed to be discolouring, as they stood there. His face was oddly sticky too—probably from the spit earlier, Severus realised. At the exact instant Severus had pulled his travelling cloak on, Sirius yelled: “KREACHER!”

The elf returned with a crack. Severus saw its giant, yellowy, watery eyes and nasty expression. The jug ears pulled back while it was tugging the white fluff gushing out of them. It was moving its feet back and forth, like river dancing.

“Master called, Kreacher was present and observing afar, while Master was being desecrated on poor Mistress’ dining ta—“

“SHUT UP!” Sirius yelled, and Kreacher snapped its mouth shut. “You will not tell anybody about this—not a dead or a living soul and that’s important—as long as you’re alive—do you understand?” Sirius’s voice was abhorrent: it bounced echoing back from the kitchen walls.

Kreacher tugged his ear-fluff again, hard, and nodded.

“You won’t tell anyone about this, or I will split up your head,” Sirius growled, “and use a Permanent Sticking Charm to paste it to your Mistress’ forehead on that god-damn painting. _Do you hear me_? You won’t mumble about this while strolling around, not even in your fucking dreams, that’s an order!”

“Kreacher understands,” Kreacher said with a bow, “Kreacher will remain silent of events he witnessed but disapproves and thinks about the legacy of poor Mist—“

“GET OUT!”

Kreacher was gone with a crack.

Severus stood still, quite bothered and embarrassingly aware of the fact that apparently a nutty, blabbermouth house-elf had caught them in the act. He felt anything but good about it. A burning regret settled in his chest as Black turned to him.

Sirius seemed angrier than he had yet been that night. He did not look at Severus in the eyes, he stared somewhere around his cloak collar, then turned a little bit to the left and frowned.

Severus turned to look and saw that the potion bottles meant for Lupin had cracked and spilt on the floor.

“Leave,” Sirius ordered, and disobeying did not even cross Severus’s mind.


	2. The Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading & leaving kudos.

**2.**

**The Revenge**

The next meeting the Order of the Phoenix organized, turned out to be particularly awkward. In more ways than one.

Molly Weasley had argued with his husband and elder sons, and it seemed as though there was not an attainable seat for her—the kind that would have been situated as far as possible from the members of her family. Finally, Molly settled for a seat next to Sirius Black at the head of the table. She listened to Kingsley’s report grimly, glancing at her husband and sons irritably at times, making the others around the table feel quite uncomfortable as well. Tonks and Lupin seemed to have argued also; at least they were sitting on different sides of the table actively avoiding each other’s eyes. Moody’s magical eye was skipping in turns to everybody in the room.

Severus was late, but the members did not seem to pay attention to him—aside from Kingsley who nodded at him briefly—and Sirius Black who stared at him with rising disgust, pure animosity. Severus noticed that Black had pushed his chair as far away from the kitchen table as possible. It was like he did not care to touch the particular piece of furniture ever again. Black sat still; his arms crossed. Severus sat down and purposely pulled himself close to the table.

The next awkward situation occurred when the meeting ended and Lupin caught up to Severus in the hallway, inquiring about the potion. Severus did not have an answer for him, which is why he vaguely—and rather rudely—mentioned something about an enormous workload to attend to and not having the time. It did not help, that Sirius was staring at him judgmentally when he spoke. Lupin seemed to understand. But he was disappointed, no doubt. Tonks toppled the umbrella stand, which then set off Mrs. Black, and now she was blaring loudly.

Mrs. Black’s screams contained something about a blood-traitorous son, who was shaming the pure name of the entire Black family by letting half-bloods desecrate his body, and suddenly Sirius was in a rush to pull the curtains back to cover the painting.

Distressing atmosphere had now settled in the hallway. Sirius looked quite pale as Molly was clearing her throat, saying loud good-byes to everyone, and rushing to leave with her husband. (No sign of squabble anymore.) Others looked like they wanted to move on as well, rather than stay behind and stand around in the suddenly silent entryway. Lupin was still there, frowning, and skimming at Sirius incredulously before approaching him asking if everything was okay.

Severus hurried towards the front door when he heard Sirius snap: “Fine. Everything’s fine.”

Lupin appeared to be little offended. He muttered something about having the right to worry and ask if he felt like something was wrong. All very amorous, yes. Severus snorted to himself.

Sirius did not mind Lupin, though. “Snape,” he snarled instead, with a voice that did not exactly entice Severus to turn around. “Need to talk to you.”

Severus cursed his slothfulness and stopped, his hand on the door nub, right leg on the porch already. He glanced over his shoulder and saw enraged Sirius leaning on the doorframe next to Lupin, who was frowning and—if possible—looking more dubious. He looked at Sirius, then turned his face to Severus. The bruises on Sirius’s face had not healed just yet, and Severus was agonizingly aware that his lip was also bruised and had unhealed cuts on it.

“And what might this matter concern, then?” he jeered.

Sirius flashed his teeth, looking murderous. “I think you know.”

Severus closed the front door and returned to the entryway. Lupin was still there, seemed like he did not plan to move anytime soon. He raised his eyebrows and squinted interrogatively at his friend.

“Is this matter of a private nature, then, or is it possible for me to stay in case you two choose to finish that—what judging from your faces seems to have been a rather childish spat, I might add?”

Sirius looked weaker than before as he opened his mouth—but then he snapped it shut again, apparently deciding he could not acknowledge verbally that their matter to discuss was indeed private.

Severus pursed his lips. Lupin turned to him, as if trying to get an answer out of him instead. Like hell.

Lupin snorted.

“We have enough problems these days without you two wasting your time to fight each other,” he said impatiently. “Can’t you let this go already, finally? Just let the past stay in the past—nobody’s requiring you to suddenly care for each other but—couldn’t you just _try_ to act more civilized?”

Severus felt irritated and glanced at Lupin. It was easy for him to speak. Judging from Sirius’s face he also would bury the hatchet only after he’d thrown it to the bottom of the ocean, next to Severus’s lifeless body.

The silence between the three stretched. Finally, Sirius spoke, startling Severus.

“Well, of course you’re right, Remus, you old chum.” His irate face was still fixed on Severus. He seemed everything but to agree with the words he spoke. “I guess we really _should_ bury the hatchet, should we not, hmm? Snape?”

Severus could see the burning hatred in Sirius’s eyes. A mean, calculating smile sprawled to his face. Lupin frowned even more sceptically when he spotted it.

“Let’s have a drink for it,” Sirius proposed, clasping his hands together and disappearing to the kitchen. Lupin and Severus stood still for a moment, in awkward silence, until Sirius returned with a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. He shoved one in Lupin’s hand, then handed one to Severus who lingered a moment before taking it. Sirius held the remaining glass in his hand, poured a drink to it, drank it, then poured another one for himself before filling Remus and Severus’s glasses.

Lupin looked frustrated. Severus believed he knew what Sirius aimed to accomplish with this pseudo turnabout.

Sirius raised his glass and smiled mockingly. “To good old times,” he cited. “Burying things—and whatnot.”

And Sirius drank his glass empty before anyone else had time to touch their drinks. After that, he lifted the bottle to his lips and drank devotedly. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his cloak—Severus and Remus had still not tilted their glasses.

“Oh, come on, you lot” he growled, “clearly I haven’t poisoned it.”

Lupin glanced at Severus before gulping down his drink. Shuddered. No enjoyment. Severus waited a few moments before doing the same—Sirius had found the time to fill his own glass for the third time. He was now toasting mockingly with him.

“Well then. Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Sirius dawdled towards the living room. “Let’s have another one and chat. Act civilized.” 

“Sirius—“

“ _Let’s_ _have_ _another_ _one_ ,” Sirius reaffirmed firmly. “Chat, maybe. You can go though, Remus, Snivellus and I are perfectly capable of conversing ourselves, aren’t we? We can take a nice trip down memory lane.” He disappeared in the living room.

Lupin seemed exasperated and annoyed. He looked at Severus.

“I don’t have time for this,” he stated, tired. “I don’t have the time to baby-sit him, still acts as if he’s sixteen, picking fights just because he’s bored. You must know that, right? You don’t have to go along with this nonsense, to indulge his—“

“I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions, thank you very much, Lupin, for your concern,” Severus interrupted rudely.

Lupin tensely placed his glass on the dresser.

“Fine,” he said, shrugging. “Fine, whatever. Kill each other, I don’t care to bother anymore.”

With that, Lupin marched to the front door, mumbling something of the sort as “ridiculous” and “grown men” as he went.

Severus was left to stand alone in the entryway of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he twirled the glass in his fingers and a small smile accompanied his face. It was quite clever, he had to admit. Brilliant even. He was certain of it, certain that Black had done all of it on purpose. He knew his friend well enough to know which buttons to push to make him leave when his patience wore out. Severus noticed that he was quite intrigued by it, and to find out what was expecting him in the living room once he entered it, whether it was a murder attempt or something similar to before.

He paced to the living room; the door creaked when he pushed it open.

Sirius was sitting on one of the couches, looking relaxed, one hand on the back rest and one raising a (nearly empty) bottle of whiskey to his lips. He downed a few swallows. Severus noticed that the Gryffindor did not seem surprised that he had entered the room alone, without Lupin. He walked over to Sirius, offered his glass, and waited for him to fill it.

“To good old times, right?” he whispered sarcastically and raised his glass a little.

“Remus?” Sirius inquired.

“Seemed to think that you were acting childish,” Severus stated. “Left.”

“And you?” Sirius retorted. His voice gave out his intoxication.

“Do I think you’re childish?” Severus’s other eyebrow arched. “Sure.”

Sirius slogged his arm impatiently. “You stayed,” he stressed. “Alone. Why?”

Severus smiled bleakly. He raised his half-full glass of whiskey to his lips, guzzling the rest of it down his throat.

“You offered a drink,” he said. “I accepted it. That’s what your intent was, wasn’t it?”

Sirius stared at him, calculating. Severus felt slightly bothered, as Sirius’s dark eyes were persistent and baring, seemed to drown him with hatefulness. He refrained from flinching.

“Of course.”

Sirius handed the whiskey bottle to Severus, who took it. He poured himself a little more and then placed it on the ornamental, mahogany dresser following by his soon empty glass. He sat down on one of the couches, across the room from Sirius. Black’s eyes had been following him the entire time. Severus did not know if it was because of the man’s intoxication or something else completely, but he seemed untroubled now, calm even. It caused Severus to be on alert. They sat in silence for a while, until Sirius spoke again.

“What you did to me, last time you were here—“

“You wanted it,” Severus spat angrily. He was now the one who had to avert the agonizing look from Black, as his other hand made a fist inside his robes. How dare he say it like that? Severus felt his anger building up inside. The other man across the room appeared to be calculating his next words carefully.

“It felt like it was all natural to you,” Sirius indicated. “Like it wasn’t your first attempt in such act at all. Been into that for quite some time now, have you, with your Death Eater pals? Maybe with each other, having initiations of some such? Or assailing unsuspecting Muggles, huh?”

Severus flinched. Fury bubbled up inside. He forced his mind to settle, pushed calm, emotionless tranquillity back and shoved his thoughts away, so deep in his mind he was able to close them there and keep them hidden for a while. When he spoke, he spoke with a quiet, soft voice that was not any louder than a whisper.

“I wouldn’t characterize you as an unsuspecting Muggle—“

“So, you admit it?” Sirius spat and knocked his other foot on the floor. “That you—attacked?”

“ _You_ were the one that hexed first—“

Sirius stood up from the couch to his full length. “ _I’m not_ talking about that, and you know it!” His manic voice echoed in the empty, large living room, his spit splattering to Severus’s face from that far away. Severus could have sworn that the crystals on the chandelier jingled from the sound of his voice and not because of the lorry driving past the house further away.

Severus chewed his cheek behind his pursed lips. He would not have dared to look at Sirius, but did that anyway, worrying he might flinch after seeing the look on Black’s face. To his surprise Black seemed rather calm again; he did not even have his wand in hand.

“You’ll pay for it. For what you did,” Sirius stated calmly, with a soft, threatening voice. He sounded drunk but reassuring anyway.

“Interesting threat, since you— _DON’T_!”

Severus did not have time to cave his own wand from his pocket, because without a warning, a large, black dog had attacked him from behind the coffee table. The hound jumped on him, aimed his inch-long fangs to his crotch and bit, _hard_. Severus yelled as he felt burning, stinging pain when the teeth sank to his flesh, he felt the dog mauling him, it was going to tear him to pieces—he grasped the dog from its neck, tried to throw it off of him, but it was too strong—far too strong—

—with his other hand he was able to cave his wand out and he aimed a hex at the dog. But the dog had released him and dodged with beast-like reflexes.

Severus tried to stunt the bleeding with his hand as he stumbled away, he targeted Padfoot with curses. The dog was able to avoid all of them. It attacked him again, and Severus heard himself yelling, felt the teeth sink deep in his arm. The hound was wrenching him so hard he feared the arm would tear off—he tried to kick the dog away, but it only got more frantic, growled, and loosened its grip from his arm. It dashed towards his neck now. Severus flashed his wand, yelled the first curse coming to mind. It happened to be Sectumsempra.

The dog yelped as invisible swords sliced it all over; it sprang back and clashed against the dresser.

Severus was panting, shaking, and bleeding on the floor. He felt dizzy as he was losing a fair amount of blood. He started to charm his wounds shut the best he could, tended his groin and his arm and collapsed on the floor afterwards. He lay still for a while, let the heart pound in his chest and placed a cold, sweaty hand on his forehead.

Fucking _hell_. That was… not what he had expected.

Frankly, he could not have cared any less if the mutt—Black—would die. It would have been fine with him, but unfortunately, he was painfully aware that several members of the Order, Lupin in front, had placed him on the scene. They knew he was the last person to see Sirius Black alive.

Severus cursed heavily and heaved himself up. The bastard better stay alive, then. _Fuck_.

He walked over to the bleeding, lifeless dog, stared at it for a moment, mercilessly. He considered for a moment for letting it bleed to death. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to incant the dog back to its human form, dragged the cloak aside and started to mumble the counter-curse in a low voice. Slowly, the wounds began to close-up. Black seemed lifeless; his eyes had slipped around in their sockets, just a little bit of white visible. Severus stopped his incanting, straightened himself and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the dresser. He drank several swigs and then thrusted the empty bottle back.

With a flick of the wand, Sirius rose eerily up in the air, the cloak flapping underneath him, and Severus guided the body to the staircase and then upstairs.

He did not have any difficulty identifying the right bedroom, since its walls were covered on bright-red Gryffindor coat of arms and snobbish lions. There seemed to be several photos at the head of the bed, Potter senior starring in many of them. The walls had unmoving posters of Muggle women as well, half-naked. Severus scoffed. He placed Sirius on his bed to which he flopped down to—still unresponsive.

After a few hours and some time to think, nervousness started to creep to Severus’s mind. He had gone overboard. Sirius was still unmoving, and probably would stay that way for quite some time without a skilled Medi-Witch or Wizard. And due to his identity—and frankly the situation—he did not have the luxury. The Order could swoop in without a warning, maybe soon—you never knew—and none of them would likely be pleased to find Black in such state, on Severus’s account. In his defence, Sirius had (yet again, might he add) been the one to strike first, but he found slim solace in the fact. And as he suspected, so would the Order.

He did not have many choices.

Severus considered for a moment the possibility of telling Dumbledore what had happened, but quickly decided against it. Dumbledore was pulling enough his strings as things were.

It was Saturday—he had to get back to Hogwarts on Monday morning at the latest. If Black would not wake up before that… He decided to worry about that later.

But Sunday night came, and Sirius did not show any signs of getting better. The only upside in the whole debacle was that the Order had not yet rushed to scene. After witnessing yet one dark night descending outside the windows of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place Severus had made up his mind. He had to return to Hogwarts—and his only option was to bring Black back with him. At Hogwarts he was able to oversee the man, make sure that he was still breathing (Merlin forbid) between his classes. It would not be easy though, to smuggle a wanted murderer into the castle, that much was for certain.

An unhappy thought that somebody—possibly Lupin—would show up to obviously empty Grimmauld Place to look for Black was haunting Severus’s mind, but he pushed it aside angrily. He knew that the absence of Sirius Black from his residence would stir up questions aimed at his direction too, but Severus could claim he had left immediately after the offered drink. A whole different problem would be whether Lupin would believe him or not. Certainly, he would not consider Severus to be that moronic that he’d _actually_ kill Black after witnesses placed him at the scene.

Would he?

Besides, Severus thought with comfort, Black had been lusting to get out of the house for so long, that the most obvious explanation for his absence would simply be his own decision to leave.

 _That’s right,_ Severus thought bitterly, _let them think the idiot fled on his own._ He did not need any more harms in his way, he had plenty in trying to save Black’s pathetic, sad life.

With surprisingly little effort Severus was able to deliver Sirius to the castle. The only real problem arose when he had to get by the protecting magic guarding the place and identifying unwanted visitors. He was able to get past the shields—apparently Sirius was not (anymore) one of the people that were considered a threat to the castle. So, Severus was able to convey the unconscious man to his room.

His chamber was located near the dungeons and his classroom on the ground floors of the castle. There was not much of daylight available. The few that knew where his personal bedroom was located, knew well enough to stay away.

Severus transfigured his desk to a dismal bed (he would place Black in his own bed over his dead body) and settled the unconscious man on it. He stripped off his bloody, shredded robes. Three white, long scars were formed on Sirius’s pale chest. Severus knew he would have been able to do better work on healing them but frankly, he had not cared. Not at all. In fact, he hoped that they would remind Black for the rest of his life that it was him, Severus Snape, that had chosen to leave him alive. Black’s pathetic little attack had backfired and it was Severus who was in charge of his survival.

Severus stood over Sirius’s makeshift bed and observed the man. His tangled hair curtained his face, chest was pale, and one hand was hanging over the side of the narrow bed.

It must have been past midnight. Severus had to prepare his classes for tomorrow and try to get some sleep. He stood in place for a moment, thinking. Then, he came to a conclusion—decided he could not risk it—and charmed shackles to appear from the wall and tied Sirius’s hands firmly with them. If the man would wake up in the middle of the night, he would not be able to finish what he had started.

Black did not wake up that night, though, and Severus left the man sprawled on the bed, shackled, once he left for his classes the next morning. He went back for a quick check-up before dinner, noting the situation to be as before. He ate quickly, avoiding Dumbledore’s gaze and possible questions. He disregarded McGonagall’s inquisitive stare as he loaded a few extra liver pies on the plate and left the great hall his cloak fluttering behind him. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Potter and his friends on their way to supper and wondered irritably when he might notice his Godfather’s disappearance and alert half of the Order for a search party.

After returning to his bedroom Severus noticed immediately that Sirius had moved, his other leg was inches away from where it had previously been. The sheet seemed like it was rolled around on. Severus stayed on the doorway for a few seconds before purposely banging it shut. Sirius did not react, so Severus could not deduct whether he was awake and just pretending or still unconscious.

Severus placed the plate of liver pies on the nightstand and sat on his bed. He was observing Sirius in the dark, candle-lit room and noticed now that the man was holding his breath. His lips curled. Okay, then. Not unconscious. Or dead.

“You can open your eyes,” he said. “I know you’re awake.”

Sirius snapped his eyes open, and the shackles clanked as he turned his face to Severus.

“You,” he rasped with a frail voice.

“Me, indeed,” Severus noted. “Who else were you expecting?”

“Woke up shackled in a dark dungeon,” Sirius snarled, “I thought maybe the Death Eaters. But then again, it’s you, so I guess I wasn’t that far off.”

Severus’s smile did not fade as Sirius was glaring at him.

“So,” Sirius croaked with a voice that made obvious he was trying to keep it as steady as possible, “why the hell am I laying here, half-naked and tied up?”

“Don’t you remember?” Severus spat quietly.

“I remember being at Grimmauld Place, you were there too and attacked—“

“ _I_ attacked?” Severus shouted crossly. “ _Me?_ Attacking you? _You_ were the one trying to kill me.”

Sirius squinted his eyes in confusion.

“Kill? That’s not—“

“ _Look!”_ Severus hissed and pulled his cloak sleeve up, showing the faded canine-bites on his arm. He was shaking his hand in front of Sirius’s eyes and the man went even paler than he had been before.

“I didn’t—“ Sirius had nailed his eyes to the bites on the thin arm and was staring at it with horror. “I was drunk, it wasn’t my intention to—“

“To kill?” Severus shouted and laughed coldly. “It wasn’t? Then what’s _this_?” He tucked his cloak aside, lowered his trousers just enough to show the larger, uneven canine-gnawed-like scar on his groin. Sirius stared at the scar and yanked his shackles trying to pull back.

“I—did not—“

“ _Don’t lie!”_ Severus yelled and would have probably cursed the man right there if he had not entangled on his cloak trying simultaneously to pull it down to cover him and pull his wand out of its pocket. He was furious—Black did not even have the man in him to admit what he had aimed to do.

Sirius had pulled himself more upright on the narrow bed with help from his shackles, he was now half-sitting and glancing at Severus who had finally managed to pull out his wand. Severus was pacing back and forth in the tiny room, trying to calm himself down. Efforts to save Black would not go as planned if he would go on making the mistake of killing him. Go figure.

After a few minutes Severus had calmed down enough to charm Sirius’s left hand free. He shoved the plate of liver pies on his lap.

“Eat,” he commanded and left the room for a while to gather supplies for tomorrow’s potion class.

After he returned, he had a bottle of healing potion with him retrieved from his classroom. He had had the time to brew it in the morning in between classes. Sirius sat stiffly on the bed, and it looked like he had eaten the pies with decent appetite. Good. It was a good sign.

The plate was nowhere to be seen, though, and Severus stood still, impatient as ever. His lips curled with an unhappy, angry smile, again, and he had to use up his entire source of self-control to keep his words steady.

“That’s very lovely, Black, but these constant attempts to murder me obstruct my unrelenting attempts to save your pathetic life.” Severus gritted his teeth and pulled out his wand. “Would you be kind enough now, and calmly hand me the plate.”

Sirius sat still for a moment and stared at Severus grimly, but then he pulled out his right arm from behind his back. He handed over the sharp-edged chunk of a plate.

“And the other half?” Severus asked. Patience. Wearing very, very thin. He tossed the sharp piece away.

“Under the bed. Why don’t you kneel down and pick it up for me?”

Severus swayed his wand and called for the other half of the plate, which flung to his hand from behind of Sirius’s back too.

“Exactly how foolish do you think I am?” Severus asked coldly.

“What did you expect me to do then?” Sirius barked. “You abduct me from my home, shackle me and imprison me—“

“I have neither abducted nor imprisoned you—I saved your life. I am _trying_ to save your life. Those shackles are a premeditated move for my own safety—and clearly a right one.” Severus swung the plate piece in his hand before shoving it away after the other half. He picked up the potion bottle from the table and tossed it to Black.

“Drink,” he ordered.

Sirius snorted sardonically. “Like hell.”

Severus restrained his urge to pick up the plate piece and cut the man with it.

“If I wanted to kill you,” he said, “I would’ve left you bleeding to death on the floor of your precious manor. If I wanted to kill you _now_ , I certainly wouldn’t waste time to coax you into drinking poison, but instead simply lift up my wand and do it.”

Sirius did not move an inch.

“If you don’t want to kill me, let me go then,” he said. “Or why don’t you give me back my wand and I’ll let myself out.” Sirius seemed cunning as he stared Severus with his grey eyes. Severus felt a sudden rush of tenseness considering what might happen if he fulfilled the demand.

He smiled coldly and sat down on his bed.

“Sure—in due time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback appreciated!


	3. Restrained

**3.**

**Restrained**

Three days had passed. Severus was not able to rationalize anymore why he simply did not unshackle Sirius Black and let him go. He tried to reason the decision—or lack of thereof—with the unstableness of Black, that he would probably try to attack him again, or barge into the hallway where he could be seen by Hogwarts students and staff. That would lead to a disaster. He could imagine the disappointed look in Dumbledore’s face. He told himself that Black was still weak, that he needed “tending”, but every reason had started to sound more and more absurd in his mind.

The most convincing of the reasons so far was the one that he wanted to revenge the torment Black had practiced at school—and the attempt to kill him from few days ago too, of course—and that was the argument he offered Black when he inquired it. Black had, of course, accepted his justification with despond, it probably sounded sensible to his ears—as it should have. He seemed to understand the motivation behind the revenge, even if he did not state it out loud.

On the third night Severus laid awake for several hours, watching the man on the narrow, makeshift bed just a few feet away from his. The pale, white chest was rising and descending slowly to the pace of steady breathing. The one free hand was hanging over the side, the other still shackled over the head.

The first opportunity to let Black go had presented itself three days ago when the man seemed to have calmed down enough. He had drunk the healing potion, tried to convince Severus that he understood, that he was not going to tell anybody what had happened between them since it would incriminate him too. Sirius had petitioned him because he needed to go to the bathroom, but Severus had solved the problem momentarily and charmed the shackle longer to allow Sirius to use the bathroom—as he did every other time after that.

And the opportunities had presented themselves alarmingly often after that: Sirius did not seem to be that furious anymore, it just felt like he simply wanted to get out of there more than anything else. Severus pushed the thought of Black spending twelve years of his life in shackles—innocent for that matter—to the darkest corner in the back of his mind. It was getting crowded there. Sirius had finally even admitted he had been an arsehole in the past, offered a flat apology for the attack as Padfoot, and noted that Severus had kind of had his revenge in the kitchen of Number Twelve already. Severus did not have a response to that.

That night, the thought of what had happened in Grimmauld Place back then, was circling his mind now that he was cursing himself for even wondering. Because he was: he was wondering what it would look like, what _Black_ would look like squirming with pleasure underneath him, shackled and helpless—when he startled realising that he was not the only one who was still awake.

A pallid, green light intruding the bedroom from the open bathroom door painted strides to the otherwise dark room. Severus saw Sirius’s grey eyes staring at him. He knew he could not pretend to sleep anymore, so he returned the glare.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just do it?” Sirius asked with a quiet, dark voice, and Severus had to stop himself from flinching, since it unpleasantly felt like the man had read his mind.

“Do what?” Severus had to remind himself that it was unlikely Sirius could perform Legilimency.

Sirius let out a dry laugh. “You know what. That’s why I’m still here, right?”

“Why don’t you enlighten me anyway—“

“Oh, will you just stop pretending, Snape,” Sirius jested. “Nobody’s here to witness your pretence, just me, so why bother? All that talk about revenge, and I’m sure that’s what you want, so why wait any further? I can see how you’re about to cum in your pants every time you look at me in these shackles. But knowing you—I doubt this will be enough.”

Severus forced himself to laugh mockingly, out loud, because he presumed Sirius did not see his sneer in the dark.

“Laugh all you want, if that makes you believe you’re somehow in charge of the situation,” Sirius said.

“’Somehow in charge?’” Severus repeated scornfully. “Which one of us was the one in those shackles again?”

“Physically me, perhaps,” Sirius said, “but actually you’re just as inoperative. Or did you fool yourself into thinking I couldn’t see it? You’re so pathetic and incapable in real life, technically still the scrawny, useless brat, letting everyone walk all over you because you can’t stop them. And _that_ is why you enjoy this so much—pretending to be able to dominate other things too by locking me into your chamber.

“Pretending to, then?” Severus inquired. “You’re the one that’s helpless at the moment, I have the power to do anything I want with you, and you can’t—“

“Yeah well, _of course_ you do, you insufferable git—isn’t that what I’ve been saying the whole time? But you haven’t _done_ anything. Not because you hate yourself for _wanting to_ , isn’t that so? Hence the incompetence. Oh look, that rhymes.”

Severus scoffed. “Spying the Dark Lord requires certain sacrifices, torturing has never been a problem to me—“

“Oh please, still with the facade.” Sirius interrupted. “You don’t want to _torture_ me, Snape, you want to _fuck_ me. Like you did before. And that’s why you hate yourself—because you want it so fucking much. That you want _me,_ specifically. So. Fucking. _Much_.”

Severus snapped his mouth shut in the dark. He saw in the gloomy, green-lit room how a victorious smile widened Sirius’s face.

“So,” Sirius said, and Severus heard the rustle of sheets as he positioned himself differently, “maybe I’ll get out of here faster if I speed things up a little.”

Sirius tugged his trousers off with his one free hand, and Severus watched stiffly as they flung onto the green stripe of light on the floor. He was—infuriatingly—instantly hard.

“Turn on the lights. Look at me,” Sirius said, but Severus did not move. He laid still in the dark and listened as Sirius moved his hand on bare skin, lifted it to his mouth and spat on it. (Was it like their _thing_ now, then?)

Then—judging from the provoking sounds—he moved the hand to his groin and started pleasing himself. Rhythmic squelching filled the room as Sirius moved his hand on his cock, back and forth, back, forth. Severus had to fight back the urge to touch himself—it was even harder to smother the scorching desire to get up and go to Black, push the man’s hand aside so he could continue with the task himself.

“I know you want this,” Sirius uttered with a voice that sent jolts straight down to Severus’s cock. “I know you want me. Here I am. Tied up, unable to move. Ready to be taken. So, _take me._ ”

Severus swallowed and saw from the corner of his eye how Sirius was trying to meet his gaze. He avoided it. He was staring at the spot that was the source of the arousing squelching sounds, hoping he would be able to see something. It was too dark for that.

Sirius was breathing heavily now, staring at Severus the entire time, making those fucking noises that made Severus tremble a bit.

“Are you gonna let me come by myself?” Sirius groaned. Severus sat up on the bed. “Come here. Touch me. _Take me._ ” The man’s voice was pleading, and Severus clasped his hand around his own pulsating cock—it was tightening painfully around the fresh, new skin of the scars, but for some reason the pain just made Severus more aroused.

“Stop,” he commanded, but Sirius did not listen.

“Make me,” the other man said, and if anything, he groaned even louder, pleading to be fucked. Severus had had enough—he sprung up and scrabbled his wand to his hand in the dark. He charmed Sirius’s free arm to the shackles too, and then lit up the chandelier in the ceiling.

It turned out to be a severe mistake.

Sirius was laying both hands tied up over his head, completely naked, fully hard—his quivering cock was wet with spit and pre-come, face flushed as he was biting his lower lip and thrusting his hips slightly upwards, the muscles of the legs tensed. The man’s gaze lowered from Severus’s face to his upper body, only covered by a t-shirt and down to his groin—the boxers failed miserably in the attempt to hide the erection. Sirius grinned mockingly.

“Look,” he smirked. “You fucking want me, bad. Come on, then. I can’t fight you this time.” The shackles clanked against the hard wall.

Severus was not able to restrain himself anymore, he moved forward and lapsed on his knees next to Sirius’s bed. Sirius inhaled expectantly when he placed his hand on the man’s flat stomach. Sirius thrusted his hips upward, pushing his cock closer.

“Touch it,” he pled in a whisper. Severus glanced at the erection that was swinging from side to side, pointing at him demandingly. He crouched over Sirius, licked the salty, warm skin of his belly and slid his hand until he reached the ribs, feeling them one by one with his fingers sliding over them. Sirius was trembling and his breathing was shallow. Severus turned to meet the man’s eyes for the first time. He stared back, it looked like he was sneering a little.

“Do you want me to touch it so that I’d hate myself even more?” Severus asked and let his fingers slide up, towards Sirius’s chest. “Or because you want this yourself—because you want me too?”

Sirius’s smirk hovered a little.

“Does it have to be one or the other?”

Without braking the eye-contact Severus placed his hand on Sirius’s cock, purposely so hard that he flinched and inhaled loudly. The shackles clanked again against the wall and each other, and Severus’s hardness was now painfully ready.

He started to move his hand on the cock, rubbing it firmly, with steady strokes. Sirius was panting, thrusting his hips up with every stroke, making noises of pleasure. He closed his eyes. Severus hurried to take his shirt and boxers off.

He clutched Sirius’s sides, was about to move him around, on his stomach, but it felt like Sirius’s entire body tightened and his muscles tensed up as he pushed back.

“Hey—hey, wait a moment—“ he muttered and looked at Severus with an alarmed, almost fearful face. “Can we—just—Not like that.“ He took a few deep breaths and the fear faded a little. “Like this. I know you want to watch me when you come, anyway.”

Severus quivered. He had not thought it was so obvious, he felt ashamed and painfully aroused at the same time. The latter feeling was more demanding at the moment, so he lowered himself down, placed his lips on Sirius’s neck and his other hand on his groin, moving it downward to the other man’s gap, fondled it while licking the salty skin of his neck and chest.

Sirius moaned a bit, and the feeling of another warm body against bare skin this way was something Severus did not remember feeling in a long, long time. It felt even more amazing than he had remembered, being so close to someone, having their warmth pulsating underneath, so lively and raw.

Severus moved even lower, trailing his tongue on the pale, light skin as he moved on the thin body. When he reached the fuzzy hair just under the navel, Sirius was trembling, relentlessly. Severus licked tentatively the tip of his cock and Sirius let out an agonizing groan.

“I’ll make it good for you,” Severus mumbled against the erection, “if you promise not to snap my neck with your feet.”

“ _Fuck_ , yeah. I promise. Make it good”.

“Say please.”

“Oh fuck, _please_ , yes, please—do it.”

Severus swallowed his erection until it reached his throat and he gagged. Sirius whimpered. It made him want the man even harder. He started sucking him, licking him, making the cock his own, and he was so hard himself it felt like bursting. Severus sucked hard on the tip, gentler on the root of the cock, and heard the shackles clashing above Sirius’s head.

Black’s breathing got deeper, thicker. His legs trembled on both sides. Severus was throat deep in that; still afraid Sirius would not hold onto his promise not to break his neck. The body on the bed throbbed, trembled. Severus felt the cock harden even more around his lips—Black was about to come.

Severus did not want it to be over.

_Excellent._

Okay then. Guess he had to admit it.

So, suddenly and without a warning, he stopped sucking.

Sirius exclaimed in frustration.

“ _Hey_.”

Sirius opened his eyes. Severus was still half on the floor, his head between Black’s trembling legs, clasping his hips with both hands. They looked at each other.

“Why’d you stop?” Sirius inquired, mumbling, panting. “Don’t stop. Please.”

Severus stroked the man’s hips, absent-mindedly, with his thumbs. Why had he stopped? Why was he looking at Black like that? Why didn’t he do _anything?_

“Do you want me to beg?” Sirius asked. “Is that what this is?” Black thrusted his hips upwards. His cock swiped Severus’s lips and he let it happen. Again. And again.

“Okay,” Sirius exclaimed. “Okay, then. I want you. _Fuck_ _me_ , please. I want you to fuck me. Don’t stop—not like this.”

“You don’t want me to stop?”

“No.”

“You want me to do this?”

“Yeah, oh God, yeah, _that_. Do that. _Please_.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, like that— _oh God yeah, fuck_ —that is— _oh God Snape_ —” 

When Sirius came, Snape felt the urge of relieving himself escape his mind, promptly. His hard-on had receded, too. It was like everything had gone from hot, steamy desire to flat-out embarrassment in one load of swallowed cum.

Sirius laid on his back, panting, completely spent. Severus took a few moments to compose himself, he got up, got dressed and glanced back at the man on the bed next to him.

Severus unchained Sirius with a swift flick of a wand. Suddenly free hands fell on the bed beside the man.

“You’re free to go”, he said.

×

The harsh reality of it was that he had simply started something he did not know how to finish. Not anymore, anyway. Maybe there had been a point where he could have ended it, but it had sailed away out of his reach at some point. And he had no clue when it had happened.

The autumn was getting darker, misty clouds stepped away from rainy black ones, yellow and orange leaves paved the sidewalks of London as well as the surroundings of Hogwarts. One especially cold and dark Friday night Severus found himself in London, Apparating on the steps of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Sirius Black was irritated when he yanked open the front door, that much was apparent. One quick look outside, peering around the front yard as if he were expecting somebody else to be around the corner, and then he stepped aside to let Severus in the house. Not looking at him once.

The reason for Black’s irritation became clear when Severus was inside the house. Mrs Black was yelling vehemently. 

“Oh, shut up, you torturous hag,” Sirius snapped and struggled to pull the curtains in front of the painting. Severus wondered if Mrs’s insults were more gruesome than they had been in the past, or was he just imagining it. Sudden silence felt awkward, Mrs Black’s final insult lingered in the air long after she had quieted.

”And _you_ can fuck off, too, while we’re at it.”

For a moment Severus thought Black was talking to him, but a quick glance in the direction of the kitchen made him realise that it was the raggedy house-elf skulking in the doorway, pulling its cotton-gushing ears, and giving them nasty looks.

“Talking to Madam with such heinous language, he is, terrible son for Madam to have—”

“Did I stutter?” Sirius hollered. He flipped out his wand and hexed red sparkles in the direction of where the elf had stood, but it was already gone. He backed up to the stairway and sat down. His throat made a gurgling sound, like he was holding back a hysterical laugh. The wand was still sticking out of his hand, so Severus was vigilant.

”God-damn madhouse, is what it is,” Sirius remarked, mostly to himself, probably. “Dead hag on a rampage and thieving house-elf sneaking around—”

Black closed his eyes for a moment, swung his head back and stayed like that for a while. Severus stood still. A loud clank came from somewhere inside the house, two or three stories up, and he wondered whether it was the house-elf or the gruesome-looking Hippogriff he knew Black had stashed away in there somewhere. Sirius opened his eyes. He did not look at him in the eye.

“I’m too tired to fight,” Black said. Severus noticed just now that he was pointing at him with his wand, ready to defend himself from upcoming attack.

“Not here to fight,” he said, put away his wand to affirm his word further.

“Why then?” 

“The potion. For the werewolf.”

“Oh.” Sirius leaned back, looking absolutely exhausted. “Right. Forgot.”

Running around after a house-elf all day sure seemed to take its toll on him, Severus thought. Was he…disappointed, though? That he was here just because of the potion? Severus could not tell. Did he _want_ him to be disappointed?

“Don’t think he needs it, though,” Sirius continued. “Not yet anyway. It’s not full moon in weeks.”

Severus knew that. He was not an idiot. He questioned if Sirius knew that he had known that. The truth was that the potion had been a pathetic excuse for him to be there that night. Why, one might ask. _That_ , unfortunately, he did not know.

Severus glanced at Sirius, nearly startled when he realised that Black was looking at him now. For the first time since he had gotten there. He was leaning back in the staircase, looking weary, yes, but in some way relaxed too. Severus felt uneasy. He felt like not looking at Black in the eyes but did it anyway. He did not want to be the one to look away, like he was scared or something. He was not. Definitely not.

”Well. If he comes by, it’s excellent that you’ll have the potion here ready for him,” Severus said.

“It is.”

So, no thank-you.

The silence between them was only uncomfortable for him, Severus realised pretty soon. Black did not care, at all. Just gazed at him, shamelessly. Severus apprehended he was being taunted on purpose. Black was going to make him say it. Well, too bad. He was not going to. No way in hell.

“I’ll let myself out, then,” Severus said.

“Mm-hmm.”

Oh, for crying out loud.

Severus glanced at Black, still sitting on the stairs, staring him back with that look on his face. _Tosser_. He turned his back on Black. Did not say goodbye. Headed for the front door. Still nothing.

Okay then.

Severus Snape was standing there in the foyer of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place when he realised that he was done for. There was no other way of putting it. Black had, yet again, an upper hand on him and he knew it. Of course, Black knew why he was there. Severus had made it obvious, _so_ obvious.

Fool. _Fucking fool_ , that he was. He knew better. But there he was. Sinking.

He heard the steps creak underneath Sirius’s feet when the man stood up.

“I’ll be upstairs,” Sirius called out to him from the staircase. He started climbing up.

Severus never opened the front door of Number Twelve to leave that night.

×

The next weekend came by and went—and so did Severus Snape. He returned to Grimmauld Place again on Friday night, then again on Saturday. With great effort he stopped himself returning on Sunday. It would have been too much on anyone’s account—if anyone knew about it. Which they did not, thank Merlin.

The following weekend it happened again. And on the next one, too. After dark November had arrived, Severus had grown tired of counting weekends. He only knew that Black would open the door every time.

They never talked much. Only shared a few words—unless you counted the lust-filled insults and commands. They unutterably agreed on avoiding eye contact, both of them knew where to go: upstairs and to the living room. They took off their cloaks and robes. They shagged on the hardwood floor—occasionally on one of the uncomfortable couches. Severus always dressed in silence and left afterwards, without bothering to say goodbye.

Until that dark, vehement, and windy Friday night on the last weekend of November.


	4. Nothing to No One

**4.**

**Nothing to No One**

The day had been maddening. More than one of the students had got on his nerves, blundered their potions disastrously, thrown mixes of herbs in their cauldrons that should never have been put there in the first place. Severus had to stoop so low that he ranted. Ranted to avoid an explosion. Ranted, so that he would not kill one of the youngsters instead. He took away more points than probably during the whole semester so far.

So, he had a good reason to be impatient that Friday evening when he was knocking on the door of Number Twelve. He was ready to vent his spleen, had already taken off his travelling cloak, and cursing Black all the way to lowest sections of Hell as he was freezing by the front door. _Of all the damn days,_ Severus thought irritably, _to decide it’s time for nit-picking._

After a while, the door flung open.

“Took you long enou—”

Severus’s hand was up, ready to knock one more time, and it froze mid-air. Horror flooding his insides.

Not Black at the door—but Lupin.

Shit.

“Oh—Severus.” Lupin seemed surprised as he blinked a couple of times. He looked around trying to see if someone else was coming. No. He turned to Severus. Frowned, in apparent disbelief. Severus noted that the werewolf seemed agitated, although he was hiding it quite well. “What a—what a surprise. What brings you by, at this hour?”

“Dumbledore.” Severus spat out the first word that came to mind. He thanked his maker for it being as believable as it was. It was a fitting excuse: The Headmaster might very well have a task for him so late on a Friday night. More than plausible explanation.

“Oh—okay.” Lupin was still confused, not as suspicious, though, as he had been a moment ago. He was shifting his weight from one leg to another, somewhat uneasily. “Is something wrong?”

“It doesn’t concern you,” Severus said sharply. Lupin raised his eyebrows in indignation, and Severus cursed this one last matter of annoyance he had to add to the long list of annoying things gathered that day. He did not have the patience to consider the gentle feelings of werewolves right now.

“Right.”

“It’s not a thing of importance,” Severus forced himself to add, hoping there would not be follow-up questions. Hoping he sounded reassuring as well. “Even Black is capable of helping me with this task. Assuming you have more pressing matters to attend to?”

Not a question. A reminder.

“Yes,” Lupin said. “Right. Of course.” He sounded absent, turned a little bit. He was gazing somewhere over his shoulder again. Then finally grasped he should move away to let Severus enter the house.

Severus stepped over the threshold, spotted Sirius immediately sitting in the staircase, like he had been a few weeks ago, too. Severus frowned. Something was…off. Sirius was not avoiding his eyes but met his gaze cold-bloodedly. He was angry. Not at him, Severus, though, no. At—Lupin? Himself? Angry at the interruption, perhaps? Sirius’s gaze slid back to the werewolf. His back, to be more exact. Because Lupin was still standing there, looking flushed. He was staring at Severus, in his thoughts.

“All is well, I presume?” Severus inquired with a dry smile. He wondered what it had been about—the argument or whatever it was he had interrupted by stumbling upon to it. He was curious. It was _something,_ though, that much was for sure.

“Yes, of course,” Lupin stated a little coldly. “I was just—I was about to leave.” Lupin glanced at Sirius from the corner of his eye, but the man was not looking at his direction anymore. “You can have your conversation privately—on whatever it is you have to talk about.” Lupin wrapped his cloak around him tighter but did not move. Severus was covertly inspecting both men.

Lupin cleared his throat. His words lingered in the air, nobody willing to seize them. Sirius was still very busy looking away. Okay then. _Very_ uncomfortable, indeed. At first, Severus was enjoying it. Why shouldn’t he? His nemesis’ having a spat, bickering with each other. But then, only a moment later, he found himself a little…offended.

Really, _offended?_ Was that the word?

“Well then,” Lupin said, “I’ll be on my way now. Sirius?”

Sirius’s head twitched to Lupin so fast it looked like it hurt. His face was blank.

“I’m—“ Lupin glanced at the floor, was measuring his feet with his eyes but forced himself to raise his face to meet Black’s again. The expression seemed sore, somewhat wretched. “I’m sorry, for what I said. I didn’t mean to be—cruel or anything.”

Interesting. 

Lupin glanced at Severus, hinting it was disrespectful to eavesdrop. Severus answered with a sharp stare indicating that he was not eavesdropping since he was just— _standing_ there. And not about to leave or give them some privacy or anything like that.

“Right. Okay then.” Lupin lingered there for a while, expecting goodbyes, probably, but had to be disappointed. Nobody said anything. Not Lupin himself, either. He shrugged, opened the front door, and let it huddle shut after him.

Sirius scoffed and stared blankly at the spot Lupin had just disappeared from. He mumbled a few insults— _wanker_ being one of them—under his breath and headed for the living room, his cloak flowing after him as he went. Severus stood still for a few moments, questioning whether he should follow or not. His curiosity got the better of him.

Black stood in front of the chest of drawers, pouring whiskey in a glass. When it was full, he grabbed the bottle instead, chugged a few gulps before clanking it back on the dresser. Liquid spilled on the floor when he clutched the glass in his hand, took it with him when he went to sit on one of the velvety sofas.

“Trouble in paradise?” Severus inquired. “A little lover’s spat, perhaps?”

Sirius’s angry gaze shot to Severus. “Rather ironic jest, considering it’s coming from you.” His appearance was painful, disturbed.

“I’d hardly characterise this—whatever _this_ is—as nothing of the sort,” Severus retorted with a low, scarcely audible voice. He did not bother avoiding the excruciating eye-contact with the other man. Something obstinate, bothersome was squirming inside him, pressing him from all the wrong places—places he did _not_ want to be pressed—he had no desire to admit to himself it might have been because of the interrupted occasion from earlier in the hallway. It was, in addition, the first time he had ever admitted the existence of “this”. “This” being the thing they had had going on between them for a few months now.

“Well, you’re exceptionally right about that.”

Right. Shouldn’t have said that, probably. Kind of a mood killer. Not that there needed to be a mood to kill in the first place. Severus stared at Black for a while, drinking, sitting, and sulking. Not the kind of evening he had set his mind on. He sighed. Sirius did not pay attention to him, was drowning in his own thoughts—and whiskey.

Fine.

Severus stood up. He walked over to Black, took the bottle with him as he went and sat down next to him on the raggedy sofa. He leaned back, leaned on the back rest, and let his posture plummet a bit. Why bother? He had had a terrible, terrible day. Glad it was almost over. Glad the sodding werewolf was gone now, too. He took a sip from the bottle, let the bitter taste wash away the past day a bit. They sat like that, in silence, for some time.

“Did you know,” Severus spoke after a while, “that in the ancient Greece, that being three-thousand-some-odd years ago, the Muggles thought that if the brightest star in the night sky would appear too early in the spring, it would mean a lousy harvest that year?”

Sirius turned to him, confused. “What?”

“Yeah.” Severus took another sip from the whiskey bottle. “They established that when it appeared on the sky, twinkling in a taunting manner, the following summer would be burning hot. No crops to harvest. Famine. Men weakening because of it. Women wanting to take off their dresses—those dirty scoundrels—can you believe it?”

Sirius frowned. He was licking his lips, thoughtfully, while looking at Severus. Obviously did not know whether he was joking or not. Severus kept his face blank. The other man took a sip from his drink.

“Famine, huh?” Sirius said.

“Correct,” Severus said and continued: “so, naturally they started to consider the possibility that the star was—in a way—malicious.”

“Is that so?”

“Wouldn’t you though, too?” Severus inquired. “Nothing to eat but dried-up crops. Naked women everywhere…”

Sirius laughed. “Oh, right. Horrendous,” he said. “Just utterly horrible.” 

They drank for a while, in silence. Severus topped up Sirius’s glass when he had emptied it, then swigged a mouthful from the bottle. Someone was fixing something somewhere; rattling noises were carried inside through the windows from the street.

“So, what did they do?” Sirius asked. “The Greeks?”

“Well, naturally, they succumbed to the stupendous, bright-burning star,” Severus said. “Conducted sacrifices. Goats, dogs. Riches.”

“Dogs?” Sirius yelped.

“They even wrote books about it,” Severus said disregarding the other man. “Wrote about burning up, suffering. Muggles write a lot about suffering, you know. Described it felt like being in flames. Being torched alive. And it all happened due to the distant star’s cruelty. Or so they thought. Because the brightest star on the sky wanted to glow in the spotlight. ‘Days of the dog’, they called it.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “It’s a star. I don’t think it’s capable of being cruel.”

Severus tilted his head, in evaluating manner, as if he were saying _are you sure._ “You do know what I’m talking about, though, right?” he asked instead.

“Of course I know what you’re talking about,” Sirius scoffed. “I’m not illiterate, you prick.”

“Interesting. Because sometimes—”

“Oh, do shut up,” Sirius ordered. “Why’d you think I chose to become a dog in my Animagus form? I studied Astronomy back then.”

“Indeed. Some would argue, though, that there was not much studying going on.”

“What can I say,” Sirius said, lifting his hands proudly, in a relaxed manner, up the backrest of the sofa, almost touching Severus’s neck in doing so. “Naturally bright. In every way.”

 _And a snobbish arsehole_ , Severus thought, but instead saying it aloud, chose to reach his right hand and grab Sirius’s crotch with it. Black flinched in surprise but did not stop him. After a second of tenseness, he relaxed again, widened his legs further apart. Severus continued rubbing. He glanced up at Sirius’s eyes. The man was looking at him, drunkenly, but sharply. Severus decided not to look away. Not now. Not when Black had finally calmed down after whatever irritating disputes he had had with the werewolf earlier, ruining Severus’s plans for a good shag that evening.

Sirius was inspecting Severus’s black eyes, seemed to gaze at his rough cheekbones and nose, then moved his gaze on to his lips. He still seemed perplexed, almost tormented when he gulped the whiskey glass empty. He clanked the glass to the coffee table, turned a bit to give Severus more space to continue his chore, and tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

Severus tucked his hand under Sirius’s cloak, reached his trousers and started unbuttoning them, thinking about dogs and werewolves all the while doing so. _That’s why they’d bonded so much in the past, probably_ , Severus thought. A dog, a wolf—same thing, really. Things in common—like belonging in a same house at school, for example—were known factors in making people fall for each other. Shared perception about loneliness too, probably.

He had Sirius’s cock in his hand, he was rubbing it absent-mindedly. Sirius was breathing heavily, reaching Severus’s crotch, unbuttoning his pants, holding a half-hard cock in his hand, massaging it.

It was not doing anything. Not really. _Why_ wasn’t it doing anything?

Severus let the former Gryffindor lean in closer. He bit his neck, mangled it a bit—and Severus let him. Sirius rubbed his cock harder; he was rough, frantic. When Sirius pulled further, they were both breathless. Severus bit his own lip. Something felt different. Petulant.

Painful.

It was not enough.

He wanted _more_. He pulled his hand away. Sirius opened his eyes.

“Hey—don’t stop,” he grumbled.

Severus leaned in closer, closed the gap between them, squished the accusations of crossing the invisible, but very, _very_ wide line that were yelling in his mind and leaned in for a—

—oh, _God_.

He tasted like whiskey when he opened his lips slightly, in disbelief, to let Severus’s tongue in. Severus traced the wet lips with it before pushing the tongue in, he circled his hand around the other man’s neck, pulled him closer and felt Sirius’s hand stop moving in his groin. Sirius’s teeth gnawed his lower lip, almost breaking the skin, and Severus speculated if he had groaned aloud with pleasure. Sirius pressed himself closer, kissed more demandingly, Severus felt an eager tongue tangling his own—

—and then it stopped.

Abruptly, with a jolt. At first, Severus did not realise what was wrong. Maybe they had gone too far, _definitely_ gone too far, and it was just time to end this rubbish.

But that was not it.

Severus pulled away, tried to focus his blurry vision to see better.

Sirius had gone pale as a ghost.

Severus felt the frantic heartbeat on his fingertips that were still pressed on Sirius’s neck. Black started trembling, shaking uncontrollably. Breathing in shallow, heavy gasps. He was staring—not at Severus, though, but _something_ —it looked as if he did not see him, the wall behind him or anything for that matter at the moment.

“Black? What’s—what’s wrong?”

Sirius coughed, winced away, swayed back and forth. “I’m—not—” He started to gasp for air and would have been slouched on the floor if Severus had not been able to catch him. “I can’t— _breathe._ ”

“Black? Don’t do that—just lean backwards, okay?”

“I—I—there’s—”

Severus was holding Sirius upright by pressing his heaving chest. He frowned, tried to read the situation, tried to figure out what was going on, but couldn’t.

“D-don’t—don’t—d-d-do—”

“I’m not doing anything,” Severus said, held his arms up in affirmation for his words. Immediately Sirius slouched, crumbled to the ground, folded his arms to his chest and just quivered there, in a ball of pitiful limbs, flesh and fabric.

There was nothing seemingly wrong with him. He just could not breathe, trying to mumble something inaudible.

What the hell was this? A trauma? The fight with Remus? The kiss? Azkaban?

Sirius gagged, and for a moment it sounded like he was about to throw up.

Severus felt like every shred of goodness there may ever have been inside of him, was gone. They were shattering away, to thousands of little shreds and pieces, disappearing forever from the cuts left there by torture, murder, the Dark Lord, and the death of Lily Evans.

He was back at Spinner’s End, seven years old, heard his father screaming and throwing furniture around. Mum was crying. She quivered, and was sobbing gasping for air, her left eye walled shut, black and purple, blood dripping from her nose. _Shut up_ , father was screaming, _shut up, shut up, shut up you whore_ , but Mum wouldn’t shut up—because she couldn’t. Father grabbed her by the armpits and started dragging her in the bathroom. Severus tried to go after them, begging his father to stop, but was kicked away. He fell on the floor. Father tossed sobbing Mum on the bathroom tiles like a marionette and yanked the faucet open. Ice-cold water started pouring from the nozzle, Severus felt the freezing droplets flying all the way up to the bathroom door where he was standing, watching. But Mum—Mum had stopped sobbing. Stopped trembling.

Severus stood up.

“Alright,” he said. “Black, I’m taking you upstairs.”

Sirius shook his head, franticly. He clasped Severus’s cloak, knuckles white.

“Yes,” Severus said firmly. “It’ll be good.” He did not know that, but what the hell. It could not get any worse. Black probably did not understand a word he said anyway.

Severus hauled the gagging, coughing man upright, his feet seemed to be limp and useless as he leaned his whole weight against him. Severus led the former Gryffindor painstakingly to the staircase, dragged him one floor up, but Sirius was shaking his head and tugging his cloak and they continued another floor; Severus was randomly opening doors until he found the bathroom.

Sirius collapsed on the floor made of marble the moment Severus let go of him. He tried to back off, escape, but Severus followed him. He started tucking the cloak off the man, it tangled around his neck—it looked painful and seemed to prevent him from breathing even more, so Severus opted to charming it off. It was exceptionally clear now, that what Sirius was suffering from, was probably some kind of a panic attack. The gestures and the posture made it clear. Mum had had those often, until she learned how to restrain them. It was better that way. She did not get beaten up, if she knew just when to shut up.

Severus opened the faucet, turned it to freezing cold. Sirius exclaimed, curled up into a ball on the bathroom floor, but just as Mum had done, he shut up. Slowly, he stopped trembling, too.

Fantastic. So, there was one thing he had learned from his father after all.

Water ran for better part of ten minutes. Severus considered leaving. He watched Sirius for a while, then stepped away from the bathroom. He walked into Black’s bedroom he had seen once before—it was outrageously disoriented and messy. Clothes, cloaks, books (Muggle and magical ones), thrash, plates with half-eaten sandwiches and dust were scattered everywhere. Even the bed was covered with clutter: quills, old schoolbooks, photographs, and scrunched pieces of parchments. Severus cleared the junk from the bed by charming them to closet, pulled the covers aside and walked over to the dresser to look for something clean for Black to wear.

When he returned with a towel and a pile of clothes Sirius was still laying curled up on the floor under the flowing water. His breathing had steadied, and he was not shaking or gagging anymore.

Perfect. So, Severus could leave then.

This dreadful evening needed to be over. It was not his job to look after Black, he was a grown man who could take care of himself. Besides, it seemed like he had calmed down enough to manage the rest of the night by himself. Severus would refuse take any sort of responsibility of Black’s state, people had done much worse things to him in the past and he still had his shit together. Somewhat. Severus pushed away the blinking images of their rendezvous in Grimmauld Place’s kitchen a few months ago, and Sirius laying down shackled in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

After a short while Black sat up with fumbling limbs and turned off the shower. He turned to look at Severus’s legs. Ashamed.

“Towel,” Severus said quietly. “Clean clothes. I’ll leave them here.”

“Wait,” Sirius interrupted. “I—“

He coughed and for a moment it sounded like he was about to start gagging again like he had. He seemed to be fighting against several emotions at once, probably hate, embarrassment, and shame at least. Sirius cleared his throat, stood up and grabbed the towel.

Severus stood still. “I don’t need any explanation from you,” he said.

Sirius dried himself quickly and wrapped the towel around his waist. He was still looking at Severus’s legs, pale as a ghoul. Water was dripping from his long black hair, reaching his shoulders and the marble floor.

“Explanation?” Sirius said and stepped away from the shower. He went to the sink, watched himself from the silvery framed mirror above it, wiping his face. “I was thinking more of a thank-you, or some such.”

“Right.”

“It happens sometimes. I think it’s the Dementors or something. They messed up my brain.”

“That sounds like an explanation.”

“Right, yeah. I’ll take it back.”

Severus rolled his eyes. As if Sirius could not contain the urge to explain—or paint the situation more favorable for him. Black was insufferable—even the smallest sight of weakness had to be reasoned away. Merlin forbid they were his fault. Oh no. Someone else had to be blamed. Severus smiled coldly. He had almost forgotten for a second who he was dealing with. Jeer and mockery had been the furthest things from his mind a moment ago, but now they were rapidly zooming back in.

“Dementors,” he retorted. “How about that. And I stood here wondering that maybe, possibly, it all could’ve been because of the werewolf?”

Sirius twitched.

Severus’s deserted smile deepened. “I’m not retarded,” he said coldly. “Apparently he was here earlier to remind you that it’s not that easy to pick things up where they left off—especially when you’ve considered someone to be a murderer for the past twelve years. And unfortunately, I must state that prison has not been kind to you, Black. And it looks like he’s noticed that too since he moved on to someone more attractive—“

“Shut up,” Sirius grunted. He ripped a fresh t-shirt from Severus’s hand and forcefully put it on. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Severus nodded. He placed the rest of the clothes on a stool next to the bathroom door. “Sure,” he said mockingly. Why was he not able to let it go? Petty. “It feels like it was the case, though, doesn’t it? What happened, Black? Did you try to brush up old memories, but got rejected? You probably think you hid it well, but I could _taste_ the desperation from you earlier.”

“I am not desperate, Snape.”

“Desperate to make me _him_. I bet you hoped that it was him, earlier, and not me.”

Sirius scoffed. “Are you jealous?”

“Of what? You being pathetic?”

Sirius grabbed his towel since it almost slid off his hips. He was breathing heavily and was still pale—it looked like he was shivering a bit again.

Severus felt a shred of guilt, but he pushed it aside—he did not have to care. He could not care less about Black and the werewolf, _he_ and Black had nothing going on between them, nothing more than fulfilling each other’s needs occasionally. Black could suffer from his feelings or whatnot if he wanted to. He had to carry that weight by himself—like everybody else. There was no help. Everyone was alone in the end. At least the werewolf was still alive, Severus thought bitterly.

Sirius glanced at Severus.

“Wouldn’t that be a hopeless attempt,” he said. “I mean for me, trying think of you as Remus. There’s nothing remotely like him in you. You are—“

“I am _what_?”

“Nothing,” Sirius said indifferently. “And I mean it literally. You are absolutely _nothing_. To no one.”

Severus stiffened.

“Right,” he said. He turned around and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Again, all comments appreciated! 
> 
> *If you want to know more about ancient Greeks and the stars, check out Holberg’s book _Sirius: Brightest Diamond in the Night Sky_ (2007).
> 
> *[Nothing To No One](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84aKfOx-Iug) is a song by Gin Wigmore.


	5. Still Not a Murderer

**5.**

**Still Not a Murderer**

Severus had just stepped out of J. Pippin’s Potions carrying a paper bag full of fresh ingredients when he ran into Professor Flitwick. He was persuading him to come to The Three Broomsticks with the other Professors for a Saturday night pint. Severus was impatient to reject the invite—but suddenly ran out of words when he spotted it.

A big, scruffy black dog trotting along the main street, heading in the direction of The Shrieking Shack.

“—and Professor McGonagall will be there too!”

As if that would’ve somehow increased Severus’s eagerness to join the party.

“Some other time,” Severus replied, full well knowing that was the excuse he had used for the past fourteen years. He rushed his pace, crossed the street to follow the dog. It was jogging now, several feet ahead, but suddenly turned around to look if anyone was following. Its years flung back; eyes narrowed. The dog stopped and turned around. Growled a little. 

“Oh, look at that dote!” some girl cried. “Aww, don’t be angry.” Severus recognized her: the third-year student who never failed to boil something over in class. She and her friend were petting the dog now, it sat down and licked their hands a few times. Disturbing, really, if thought about it.

“Move along,” Severus ordered, and the girls hurried away without greeting him. Severus was sure that the dog rolled its eyes. The girls were out of hearing range now, heading for Madam Puddifoot’s. Others did not seem to be interested in the stray dog—or socializing with Professor Snape on a Saturday, for that matter.

“Well,” Severus said in a lowered voice. “Isn’t this a pinnacle of stupidity. Even from you.”

The dog tilted its head. It sniffed Severus’s bag full of potion ingredients, then sat down and looked at him.

“They closed it,” he said. “The pathway. If you’re thinking about it.”

Sirius barked.

“I don’t know why you would be thinking about it, though. If you wanted to get killed, then maybe.”

 _I am having a conversation with a dog_ , Severus thought to himself. Highpoint of his adult life. He nodded his head in the direction of Gladrags Wizardwear. Padfoot got the idea and scurried behind the stony building with light-pinkish display windows. He was back in his human form, tucking the hood deeper in his head, when Severus made it there.

“I have an errand to run,” Sirius maintained. He looked colorless, scrawny, too. Had he had anything to eat in a while?

“Sure. Is it to go get a Dementors Kiss?”

“It’s none of your business, what it is.”

“Okay. Continue away.” Severus lifted the paper bag, wrapped his arm around it and turned around to leave.

“Wait,” Black said. “I—” 

A rowdy couple of teenagers looking for a place to snog—or something else—interrupted them at that moment, though. Sirius tugged his hood further down and turned around, Severus scared the kids grievously by just being there. Both of them jumped away from each other, looked Stunned after spotting him. He took away points from both student’s houses and was yelling about writing their parents as they were rushing away, stumbling, no sign of love affair in the air anymore.

“Wow,” Sirius stated, mockingly. “Would not want to screw up in your class, oh Potion Master.”

“Look, Black,” Severus said turning to the other man again. “You’re gonna get caught. I’m not going to have anything to do with that. You need to get going.”

“I’ll go right after my errand.”

“What errands do wanted murderers exactly have these days, remind me again?”

“Still not a murderer,” Sirius asserted. “Can you promise me, Snape, that you won’t tell Dumbledore you saw me here?”

Severus smiled, wryly. As if he would normally chat with Albus about their rendezvous’.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Severus said. “I’m almost certain it won’t come up.”

Sirius seemed as if he would take it more ambiguously than Severus had intended to. Instead, he just opted in only commenting: “Good.”

“You’re going to get him in trouble.”

“Who? Dumbledore?”

“You’re meeting Potter, aren’t you?” Severus probed. Sirius did not answer, but his face said everything that needed to be known.

“He won’t get into trouble,” Sirius assured. “As if you cared.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Or to be more exact, I _won’t_. After I’m gone and nobody’s going to annex me into this debacle.”

“Good,” Sirius said. “Good for you. What’s in the bag, by the way?”

Severus blinked. He looked at the bag from J. Pippin’s. “Er—why?”

“It smells _amazing_ , whatever it is.”

Okay, so the man had in fact not eaten in days, probably, since he thought potion ingredients smelled appetizing. Severus had never seen Black putting anything other than whiskey in his mouth anyway—well, anything other than… erm—yeah.

“It’s tumbleweed. Sparrow Entrails, too. Some Hibiscus, Hangman’s Rope and Anteater Tongue. Oh, and parsley.”

“Parsley, huh? _God_ , I’d kill for some soup right about now.”

“Well, these don’t mix well in one, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Yeah, well—guess you shouldn’t hang out with convicted murderers, then. If you didn’t wanna get mugged and killed over soup components, huh?” 

“Right.” Severus studied Sirius, who was still looking at his bag, hungrily. His eyes reminded more Padfoot’s than his own. “They do bring you some food, though?” he asked.

“Huh?” Sirius’s eyes flung to Severus. “Who?”

“The Order. I don’t know, somebody. Who looks after you?”

Sirius scoffed. “I don’t need to be looked after.”

Severus raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, don’t bother,” Sirius snapped. “Yeah. Yeah, they bring me food. I guess.”

“You—guess?”

“ _Yes_. Back off. I eat. Don’t you worry about it.”

“I didn’t worry—”

“How come you haven’t come by?” Sirius then asked, startling Severus. The other man was avoiding his eyes, scanning the paper bag every now and then, tough. “In the past few weeks, I mean.”

Severus opened his mouth, but nothing, absolutely nothing came out of it. How come, indeed? He had skipped the last Order meeting, too, just to _not_ have to go to Grimmauld Place.

“If you’re mad about the thing—what I said, I mean. I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that.”

Severus swallowed.

“Like what?”

“Well, you remember what I said back then. It was just—I was being a—”

“An arsehole?”

“Well, yeah,” Sirius nipped. “Yeah, I was. Why are you expecting me not to be one, then?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Oh, for the love of—Shut. _Up_.” Sirius was fuming now. “You act like we are enemies, still. But then you get mad when I treat you as such. What—and you’re entitled to treat me as garbage, and _I_ don’t get to be mad about it? You know, you’re—you’re _deranged_ , that’s what you are.” 

Severus stayed quiet for a while. It was easy to convince yourself otherwise when you were not around the other one. The thought of wanting to have pure revenge had turned into something different. It was harrowing, it was growing deeper. He had always had Black in the back of his mind, gnawing the brain cells, pounding, like a headache, but now… These days—these days Black was _an_ _obsession_. If he did not know what Black was doing, he wanted to go find out, immediately. If Black had said something the day before, he thought about comebacks until early hours of the next morning. If Black had irritated him mildly, he wanted to break his balls. Literally, not figuratively. He wanted to make Black scream so hard he would go mute.

“If this is your way to ask me to come by,” Severus said, “it’s kind of a letdown.”

×

Severus was just a few thrusts away from orgasm; he opened his eyes because he yearned to see Sirius’s face, wanted to see the man in the after waves of his own orgasm, chest rising and still panting, shivering, so he pulled the man’s head back to meet his eyes—

—But when his gaze focused on Sirius in the dimly-lit room he saw that the man had fallen again, without a warning, probably right after he came, somewhere very deep. The darkness had taken over his grey eyes, he looked dead. He was staring blankly to the wall, his lower chin trembling.

Severus stopped mid-thrust.

Sirius’s eyes were classy and wet, he was not crying, though. His breath was rasping again, chest rising and falling unevenly. It was like few weeks ago again when he had dragged Sirius to the shower.

“Black?” 

No answer. Sirius was staring at the wall, mouth half-open, breathing intermittently and quivering. He closed his eyes and a single tear streamed down his unshaven cheek.

Severus pulled away. He sat up, got off the bed and went over to his travelling cloak. He took a tiny bottle out of the pocket and returned to the bed. He snapped his fingers. Black’s hazy gaze fixed to his direction.

“This is The Draught of Peace,” Severus said. “It’ll help. It’s better than the shower, anyway.” He placed the bottle to Sirius’s shaky hands, took off the top, and helped him to lift it to his lips.

It took a few minutes. Sirius started to calm down. He sat, half laid on top of the messy covers, seemed like he was just focusing on breathing. Severus went to the windows, pulled the drapes off, and let yellow-colored streetlamp lights shed light on the darkly lit room. Suppose that could help, too.

Severus sat stiffly back down. He glanced at Sirius. Still staring at the ceiling expressionlessly. Minutes passed, neither of them moved. Severus looked at the window. Across the street, Number Thirteen had lit up his front porch with halogen lights. They illuminated the night with bitter, stinging brightness. 

The silence was harsh, but Severus had no desire to break it. He however _had_ a desire to leave, but for some reason he could not. His back was starting to spasm from sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the bed.

“He hates me,” Sirius said unexpectedly.

Severus knew that he was not talking about him. The sentence was too vital, too meaningful to be said about him. Black did not care whether he hated him or not—it probably did not matter in the slightest.

Severus felt that cold knot tighten in his stomach.

Past tangled up with the present: excruciating pain he had nearly forgotten: flashing images of red-headed girl in the arms of a black-haired man with glasses—man who made loathing boil Severus’s insides. The image changed: red-headed girl melted into a young handsome man with shiny black hair and a smirk on his face. The boy was mocking him, and everyone was laughing.

Severus felt bitter—more horrible than he had in months.

He crouched to pick up his wand from the floor. He had a dire need for a hot shower and some good-old scrubbing.

Sirius was fidgeting. He moved on the bed, placed himself on the other side and made room for someone else to lay next to him. Probably not on purpose, though, but still. Severus stared at Sirius—the man could have been mistaken for a corpse if his eyes had not been glistening like that. Severus did not want to stay. Not really. First of all, it was _Black_ for Merlin’s sake. And secondly, it was clear to Severus that the one Black _really_ wanted to be there was not him—it was the werewolf.

It had always been the fucking werewolf.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Severus said quietly. “He just doesn’t know you anymore.” He moved closer. He swung his legs on the bed and lay back down. He tucked some of the covers on top of him, careful not to touch Black while doing so. Once done, he placed his hand to his chest and stared at the ceiling, too.

Out of all the moronic things to do in this world—he chose _this_?

They lay next to each other in silence for quite some time. Little by little Sirius’s breath had steadied, and after a while Severus was unable to detect if he was still awake. Severus was contemplating all kinds of thoughts: Mum, his childhood in general, Potter and Black, what was the thing that had made Lupin a more worthy candidate to teach the Defence Against the Dark Arts over him two years ago… His thoughts circled back and forth, not really knowing just where to go.

Then—after half an hour or maybe even longer—Sirius’s hand twitched on the bed. It could have been just a muscle twitch while he was sleeping, the fingertips brushed softly against Severus’s right hand.

Severus held his breath. He still felt the fingers on his palm—and then they were moving almost unnoticeably, the hand rested on top of his for a moment, then fingers were infiltrating his own.

The touch was almost hideously gentle, it sent a jolt down Severus’s insides. He realised he had moved his own hand despite his brain’s imposition. He had turned the palm over so that Black could hold it.

×

_”He has the most disgusting face. I mean, really, just look at him. I wonder if his mother had sex with a ghoul or something.”_

_Snickering._

_“Or a vampire.”_

_“Wait, can vampires have children, anyway?”_

_“I don’t know, but if they did, they would turn out prettier than Snivellus.”_

_Laughs, echoing. Someone shushing since they were in a library. Severus tried to sink deeper in his book._

_“You hear that, Snape?” he bellowed from afar, ignoring his friend’s warnings. “Why do you insist on dragging your ugly arse here? You heard what Peter just said, even vampire babies would be easier on the eyes.”_

_“Oooh, shit. That was a good one.”_

_“Like, really. Nobody would ever wanna get with that.”_

_“Eww, stop.”_

_“Yeah, come one, Siri. I don’t want to think about that. Just before supper.”_

_“Well can’t blame ya. Disgusting, isn’t it? I wonder if his prick is as worn out as the rest of him.”_

×

Severus woke up disoriented, not knowing where the hell he was.

He half expected to see the tall shelves of Hogwarts library, smell the dust, feel parchment on his cheek. First rays of pasty, wintery morning were oozing through the heavy worn out velvety curtains. Unformed thoughts about unfinished Potions homework alarmed him until he realised it was Saturday, twenty-two years later, and he was laying next to someone who had messy, long black hair and a pale face and who was resting peacefully—oh _God_ —just a few inches away from him.

He noticed something else as well. Even though they had turned to their sides during the night, both of them actually, their hands were still touching. Not quite holding each other, but horrendous as such anyway. Sirius’s left hand was resting on top of his right hand, couple of fingers still crossing. They had slept like that, somewhat peacefully, the whole night.

Severus used the opportunity to inspect Sirius’s face. Rare opportunity for that without being disturbed. Sirius did not look enraged, sceptical, or scornful. His lips were slightly open. Severus could feel, almost taste, the warm, even breaths on his face. He was resting on the pillow next to him. If he had not known he was staring at the face of a man he hated, he could have made the mistake of feeling something—impractical. And that would solely be because of the physical closeness. It would _not_ be attachment—it would just be a lie to think that.

The former Gryffindor’s eyelids vibrated a bit, and Severus was saved only by a millisecond. He managed to close his eyes just before Sirius opened his.

He heard the other man fidgeting on the spot, drowsily. He felt the hand stiffen in his own: apparently Black had come to the same conclusion as he had just before. For a moment, Severus was not able to hear anything, nor feel, for that matter. Black was stiff and did not move—not until the sheets rustled a little bit and the hand was pulled away from his. Severus felt odd; he felt abandoned as his hand was left laying on the bed feeling oddly cold and without a pair. He was just about to scold himself when he felt it—something warm and moist touching his lips.

Holy fu—

He was so surprised and grateful after the short-lived feeling of abandonment that he forgot to fake he was still asleep. He opened his eyes, and his mouth as well. He let Sirius’s tongue in, let it touch his own, investigating. He moved his right arm to Sirius’s cheek, pulling him closer. Skin on skin felt perfect.

Severus had not realised that it had been _that_ long. So long since he had touched someone in that manner. He wondered whether he had touched someone like that at all, in fact, ever. So longingly. After spending the night with them. Because it had always been just about getting his needs satisfied. No unnecessities. It was like… his humanness, his _soul_ , had forgotten that this existed.

And he needed it. _Badly_.

The final kiss was just a gentle nibble. Sirius left it behind pulling his lips away. Severus did not dare to move. Reality would crash on him soon, bitterly. He was not ready for that, not yet. They laid still for a while in that manner, lips almost brushing, stomach on stomach, legs intwined. Severus’s hand was still on Sirius’s cheek, and Sirius’s hand was on his hip, caressing absentmindedly.

Sirius moved lower on the bed, lips sliding past Severus’s chin, then neck. He felt Sirius press his head against his chest, so that Severus could press his head on top of the other ones.

And it was—It just—

There were no words for it.

Nothing had ever felt that good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting & leaving kudos, you're the best! ♡


	6. The 1967 Triumph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos, they mean a lot. Sorry for posting late! I was never quite happy with this chapter, because I always wanted it to say more than it does, but anyway, here it is.

**6.**

**The 1967 Triumph**

“What’s the racket?” inquired Severus when after he had arrived at Number Twelve that evening. He pushed the door shut quietly so that Mrs Black would not get an excuse to scream and shout that time.

“Huh?” Sirius was busy scavenging a cupboard for something to drink, not paying that much attention to him. “Oh. It’s the Muggle in Number Thirteen.”

They went upstairs, Sirius accompanying a bottle of whiskey as usual. The bed was unmade. The chandelier on the ceiling had a few fluttery candles burning in it. Velvety curtains were off the windows, and the orange streetlamps and the nasty halogen light fixture from Number Thirteen were lighting the otherwise dim-lit room. Sirius sat in the armchair—one of the two that were situated by the windows. He poured whiskey in a glass, placed the bottle on the coffee table, and offered the glass to Severus. He took it and walked to the window. 

Severus noticed that there was only that one glass this time. Unusual. Sirius was not even gulping the liquid down from the bottle like he had the habit of doing sometimes. Instead, he was just—sitting there. In his thoughts. 

A few cars were purring past Grimmauld Place, dogs barking at a distance. One of the doors of neighbouring houses was pushed shut with a muffled thud. Severus noticed that the sounds were comforting him, oddly enough. They sounded mundane, peaceful. Some people, Muggles, were living their lives despite everything. No wizards around, no one to pry on what Severus was doing there. A whole another world behind them, a world full of people without their problems: no Dark Lord, no spying, no dedicating one’s life to danger, and no anxiety over the fact that they had made the mistake of sleeping with the enemy—repeatedly.

Muffled roaring was heard from outside when a garage door was being rolled up. After a moment, disjointed thundering sound informed them someone was trying to start something. Uneven rumbling began with a loud bang, stopped, started again, and then abated to silence once more. Whatever it was, it sounded like it would not start out without a fight.

Severus sipped his drink and glanced at Sirius. The man had a grin on face—more genuine than in months. He noticed Severus’s stare.

“That’s a –67 Triumph,” he said, gently. “Almost in as bad a condition as its previous owner—dead, that is—but it’s still kind of admirable that he has the energy to try.”

Severus presumed he looked as if he had no clue what Sirius was talking about. The man turned around in his chair, pulled the thick curtain aside in front of the window and pointed across the street. Severus noticed the man in the front yard of Number Thirteen, perhaps in his fifties, sleeves wrapped up and crouching over a filthy, leather-seated motorcycle.

“I think that’s his son,” Sirius said. “Funny, because I didn’t know he had a son, or a family at all, for that matter. He was always alone. I remember when he got the bike almost thirty years ago. You should’ve seen it back then—I had never seen anything so impressive in my life. I was probably not older than seven or eight.”

The man at Thirteen threw a wrench into a toolbox, tried the throttle on the old motorcycle again, and it roared for a moment—then it began to crackle in exhaust, and with a huge bang the bike went off again. Sirius turned away.

“I’d offer help, you know,” Sirius said, “if I wasn’t a mass murderer on the loose and all that. He’s never gonna get the bike in order with his Muggle devices—it’s cursed.”

Severus gulped down the rest of his drink. He placed it on the table and looked at Sirius. The man’s face had a glimpse of Azkaban in it.

“My mother,” Sirius continued. “I think she was bothered, that I got a little too interested in the degrading piece of Muggle junk—or maybe she just didn’t like the sound of it. She cursed the bike. The owner apparently crashed in a truck. The bike hasn’t worked since. And—well, neither did the owner after that. I never saw him walk again. The bike was brought here a couple months later, in a million pieces.”

Severus glanced across the street again. The Muggle of Thirteen stood next to the motorcycle and seemed to be massaging his forehead. He appeared frustrated, unhappy. Optimistically he tried the throttle one more time, but the bike did not make a sound. 

“If I hadn’t been just a silly brat, I would have—” Sirius’s voice trailed off as his hand clenched into a fist.

Severus felt something icy and sharp moving inside. He remembered the few times he had overheard Sirius's younger brother, Regulus, speak in passing about his family in the Slytherin common room. He still felt it: the bitterness and jealousy nibbling inside. He had imagined Sirius to be an ungrateful, arrogant wanker, who did not earn any of the things he had received at birth. The riches. The looks. His family. Severus felt a tightening pressure on his chest. The flickering images of his own childhood tormented him for a moment. He forced them away. Coming back to the present, Severus realised that Sirius had stood up from his chair. He was now standing in front of him. Severus felt embarrassed under a torturous, tight gaze, but was forced to stare back. Without breaking eye contact, he stood up too, and took off his travelling cloak.

They stood facing each other. Severus saw Sirius swallowing. He fluttered slightly, breathing intensified. Severus moved one step closer—had not intended to but did it anyway. Sirius grabbed his arm, pulled him closer, closing his eyes.

Severus did not close his eyes, but instead placed his hand on the other man’s back. They kissed; he felt the former Gryffindor’s stubble tingling his chin. Sirius did not taste like whiskey that night. Severus wondered if the man was not, in fact, drunk at all at the moment. It alarmed him, so he pulled away a bit.

“Alright,” Sirius grunted, upset. “Yeah, I know. Shouldn’t do this.”

He moved in frenzy. Severus could not judge if he was angry or just being himself. Sirius jerked off his shirt, almost tearing it, tossing it in the corner. The he ripped his pants down—boxers too—and walked next to his bed. He leaned over on the bed, naked, ready, offering his arse—and Severus immediately felt hardened by that sinful vision.

“Let’s fuck then,” Sirius spat angrily. “Go for it.”

Severus moved closer but noticed that he was not just aroused. Something was squeezing him much harder than the urge to fuck, giving him signals to control himself.

It did not feel right.

"Sirius."

"Don't you _dare_ —"

Sirius got up from the bed, turned around, and made a strange movement, apparently due to him trying to grab his wand before realizing he was naked, and it was out of his reach. He glanced around, looking for his wand, but it was too far away, and Severus was standing in the way. Sirius looked like a distressed, cornered beast. He was glaring at Severus, hands clenched into fists, prepared for an attack that never came. As Severus just continued to stand still, Sirius finally chose to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Well,” he noted after a moment, “this is all going to hell.”

Severus wondered if the man meant that exact moment, or the situation between them in general, swelling into a startling, strange tangle.

“That’s why he hates me, right?” Sirius asked. “The same reason you treat me this way. Because I’m a—you know. Not fit for anything else. Or whatever. Damaged goods.”

“That’s not—” Severus pushed his mouth shut. What could he say, that would make Sirius feel better? That it was not even remotely true?

But yet it was, plainly put. Black talked in his sleep, a lot, actually. Severus had probably learnt more about the guy just listening to him in his sleep, than in the past twenty years. They had done something to him, in Azkaban. Something that still made him wake up shouting, sweating. It may have not been the reason Lupin hated him, but all in all, damaged people did not make the best bedfellows. (He should know, right?)

“We’ve talked about this. He doesn’t hate you, Black”, Severus insisted. He did not know if his words were true. How could he? He suspected the gloomy monologue would turn into a self-hate fest before long if he did not do something about it. He already felt unnecessarily miserable. Sirius was naked and distraught. “He just doesn’t—want you. It’s got nothing to do with anything that’s been—done to you.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“What do you mean?”

“If he doesn’t want me, he hates me.”

“No. It’s not the same thing. You can hate somebody and still—”

Sirius' eyes nailed to Severus. Severus did not finish his sentence; he suddenly closed his mouth. Again. He was getting good at this.

“Huh,” Sirius stated, almost smirking. “I guess you would know that.”

He was an idiot. But yeah, guess he would know that.

An embarrassing, ringing silence descended between them. Severus sighed.

“Look,” he said, ready to scold Black for being a spoiled, entitled brat who expected to be loved even after all that he had done, all that he had been trough—because people were not like that. They just were _not_. Mistakes would add up, and the amount of them would be fatal in the end. Everything would be over before it even started and friendships—or something else, something more—would wither away.

Nothing came out, though. What was the use? Besides, it was obvious that Black was, for some odd reason, more damaged than he was. There was no mending Sirius. He was just— _broken_. A sad and broken person who used his self-entitlement to wallow in pity after all this time. Immature.

The question was, why was he—Severus—falling for it, then?

“Let’s try something different,” he said, began to take off his clothes.

"What are you doing?"

Sirius watched as Severus slid his shirt over his head. He took off his pants, placed them on the chair behind him. He walked to the bed, naked, violently pushed the evil, accusing alarm bells in his mind aside, and climbed on the bed. He lay on his back, spread his legs and his arms.

"What are you doing?" Sirius demanded to know again, softer than before, though, almost paralyzed.

"Isn't that obvious?" Severus muttered faintly.

Sirius moved closer to the bed.

“Are you sure?”

"Would I be here if I weren't?" Severus snapped. He lifted his head from the pillow a bit. Shame, fear, and unease still rumbled his guts. If Black did not soon stop talking, he would surely change his mind.

“Fine,” Sirius said. “Okay.”

He sat on the bed, placed his hand on Severus’s thigh, stroking it a bit. Then, his finger wrapped around Severus’s cock, giving it a few test strokes.

“I’ll make it good.”

×

When Sirius came back from the bathroom later in the evening, he found Severus hunching over an old CRT television he had dug out underneath piles of clothes from the corner. Sirius jumped back on the bed, leaned on the headboard, and raised his hands behind his neck crossing his fingers. He was watching Severus, who was naked, and methodically inspecting the old television.

“I found it on the side of a road. Somebody had tossed it out.”

“Going through rubbish now, are we, Black?”

“You would be, too, if you were half as bored as I am these days.”

Severus glanced at Black. Then he waved his wand, lifted the TV on the coffee table next the windows, screen facing the bed.

“You know what it is?” Black asked curiously. He fixed his posture a bit, leaned forward excitedly, a bit like a kid.

“It’s a television,” said Severus, getting back in the bed.

“What can you do with it?”

“Nothing, really,” Severus stated. “You just watch it.”

Sirius frowned. He glanced from Severus to the TV and back. Looked suspicious. “Watch it? Why?”

Severus’s lips curled to an amused grin. “It’s said to be—entertaining.”

Sirius turned back to the TV, watched the dark screen, and tilted his head a little bit. “Muggles are strange,” he said. “I don’t get it.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t. This one is broken. Besides, it needs electricity to work.”

“Can you fix it, then?” Sirius asked hopefully.

“You do know it’s a punishable offense to charm Muggle objects?” Severus inquired. His face was blank, expression deadly serious.

“Oh, you mean more so,” Sirius snorted, “than twelve murders?”

“I thought it was thirteen.”

“Well, you know, Wormtail—that piece-of-shit—never died in the first place, so I don’t see a reason for me to claim that one, too.”

“Right,” Severus said.

“So—can you? Fix it, I mean.”

Severus placed his wand on the nightstand, sighing a bit. “I don’t think so. It needs other parts to operate, some kind of an antenna to receive the channels. And also, I don’t think we’re able to charm electrical things. We could try, but I’m pretty sure it would just short circuit or something.”

Sirius seemed disappointed. “Damn it,” he mumbled, woefully. “Alright. I wonder if we have some whiskey left, then.”

×

Severus woke up to an irregular roaring sound of an engine early Sunday morning. He glanced beside him. Sirius was laying there, messy hair veiling his closed eyes, lips slightly parted. He felt a sudden urge to press a kiss to those lips, sweep the hair away from his face, but restricted the desire, shoved it away. Instead, he got up and dressed quickly.

He stepped out to the bitter November morning.

Severus was walking to his spot, behind the trash cans, which was just about as glamorous as it got when he visited London. A giant roar of the motorcycle from Number Thirteen interrupted his thoughts. He was just about to Disapparate when the engine died off, once again, and for some reason he suddenly changed his mind at the last minute. He walked down the street, made sure no cars were coming, and walked over to the other side.

The Muggle had light brown, slightly curly hair. He was wearing dirty, oil-stained jeans and a light jacket—too light for the cool weather in fact. He was hunched over the motorcycle, tightening a few screws while humming to himself.

“Fine bike,” Severus remarked in a low voice.

The man knocked his head on the wheel fender as he flinched. He hurried to lift his head to look up at the speaker. He was surprised, scanning Severus’s odd clothing, and frowning.

“Oh,” the man muttered in confusion, “yeah, it is. My father’s bike. A classic these days, if not fit for a museum, even. It’s a 1967 Triumph Bonneville.”

“Sure,” Severus said thinking about last night when he had first heard that fact. “A fine year for motorcycles.” Of course he had no clue if that was the case.

“Mm-hm,” the Muggle asserted. “It’s a shame it doesn’t work. Hasn’t worked in almost thirty years. I would profit a fortune if I had the thing running.”

The man rubbed his oily hands on a dirty rag and scanned Severus again, from head to toe, raising his eyebrows.

“You know your wheels?” The man inquired, in almost a rude manner. Severus pursed his lips.

“A little,” he said with a dry smile. He liked the man less moment by moment. “Can I have a look?”

“Yeah, what the hell,” the Muggle said. He nodded his head and swung his hand in the direction of the motorcycle. “I’ve tried everything. If you know something I don’t, go for it.” He was still squeezing the dirty, oil-stinking rag in his hands.

Severus knelt down in front of the bike. He wrapped his fingers around his wand inside the cloak, veiling his face with his hair. He muttered quietly a few spells; the curse did not seem very complicated, or it had faded over the years, or maybe it was just because the vehicle had been disassembled and assembled back together after the accident.

Severus felt the Muggle staring in wonder, leaning behind him, almost breathing down his neck, utterly curious. Severus swallowed his irritation, flicked the wand inside the cloak without saying a word. A fire alarm began to beep loudly inside the house of Number Thirteen.

“Wh—dammit,” the Muggle cursed and straightened up. He hurried inside.

Severus did not waste any time. He took out his wand, poked the bike with it a few times and cast a couple of curse-reversing spells. He managed to shove the wand back into his pocket at the same moment the smoke alarm inside the house had stopped beeping. The curly-haired Muggle appeared from the front doors.

“Low batteries, I guess,” he commented. “Well, how’s it going in here?” He had that mockful nuance in his voice, it could not be overlooked.

Severus pursed his lips, fighting an urge to curse the current owner instead of the bike.

“It remains to be seen.”

He left without bothering to say goodbye. He walked briskly over to the other side of the street, disappearing back inside the shielding spells of Number Twelve’s yard. He could still hear the surprised exclamation of the Muggle as the plush, steady, uninterrupted purring of the engine started roaring the streets before he Disapparated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have my break now, but last three chapters are coming up in April. See you & thank you for reading! ♡


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